


buried under a rose bush

by witisoverrated



Category: Archie Comics, Archie Comics & Related Fandoms, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: AU, Canon Divergence AU, F/M, Is this Twin Peaks or is this Riverdale?, Jeronica, Jughead Jones is way too nosy for his own good, Murder, Mystery, Romance, Slow Burn, Veronica Lodge is not a good girl, Vughead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:59:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 115,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23195893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witisoverrated/pseuds/witisoverrated
Summary: “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”Veronica froze, her spine straightening at once.“I doubt the town’s sheriff would appreciate a second body count so close to the first one.”
Relationships: Jughead Jones & Veronica Lodge, Jughead Jones/Veronica Lodge
Comments: 182
Kudos: 277





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have no clue where this is going. I wrote this ages ago (around the time when S2 first premiered) and now that I've gotten back into watching the show again (tbh, why? self-quarantine that’s why!), I thought I'd share. I have very little hope that the writers are going to do right by these characters and give them a shot at exploring other relationships outside of their current ones, so I guess this is my way of escaping that sad reality? lol

Veronica knew she had a certain disposition for domination and for most parts, she liked it that way. She had her thumb in just about every pie – she was two-time premiership-winning captain of a state-level cheer team, a straight-A student despite being the only student member on the Central Park Conservancy’s gala and at the ripe age of 16, she was featured in the New York Times’ ‘ _A Day With…_ ’ column – she really was the girl with all the pearls in the world. And so, it was understandable that Veronica Lodge didn’t anticipate that the day would come where she finally lost control.

Then she landed in Riverdale.

For all its dull and sleepy qualities, Riverdale would make for a charming stop along the way. The townies that failed to escape the crushing existentialism of being from a small town where nothing ever happens bustled about with their daily lives mundanely. Even so, it was always with a smile on. For example, the garbage man, no doubt, hated the putrid smell of last night’s dinner combined with old nappies, yet it was important to him that he carefully disguised his disgust with a jolly ‘good morning’ to Mister-Washed-Up-Jock-From-Class-of-’89, who was always rushing to get out the door and to his hollow nine-to-five job. It was a meaningless cycle that the people of Riverdale couldn’t free themselves of.

She ditched first period. She knew that her assigned student tour guide would be so disappointed but frankly, where Algebra would be taking place in fifth period was the least of her concern. She knew she could have asked Smithers to drive but upon revisiting some common sense, she decided a limo (albeit a mini-size one) would be too conspicuous in broad daylight. It was somewhat of a hike but she very well couldn’t have gone through with it under the pale moonlight. She did some basic research before rolling into town and Sweetwater river was swamped with teenage lovers and hence, seedy teenage affairs that can only occur in the dark. Some kids playing hooky were bound to catch her on the move and she didn’t need or want an audience for what she was about to do. Lunch hour was also risky. She had gathered from her brief stop at Pop’s Chock’lit Shoppe that a handful of construction workers enjoyed taking their order of burgers and fries down to the river-side for some fresh air. She was given strict instruction to leave no witness and she didn’t want it to have to come to that. There was already one body floating around the river, the town didn’t need another mysterious death to add to its growing list of tourist attractions.

So after twenty minutes of walking across town in her Mary Janes, Veronica finally decided it was about time to slip them off now that she’s reached her destination. Even without the weight of them, her feet felt heavy. She took a deep breath, ignoring the sharp scent of salt and moss, and undid the knot that held up the hood of her velvet cape. The breathing exercise she learned from hot yoga did little to quell her nerve as she began her treacherous journey down to the river. She had to keep reminding herself that it was completely natural to be ridden with anxiety; anyone in her position would be, anyone in their right mind should be. Still, she couldn’t help but be annoyed at herself for her minor oversight – the strenuous weather condition. The fog was heavy and unforgiving to her mission; she couldn’t see across the river and therefore, she couldn’t see if anyone was waiting on the other side. The sensible part of her tried to rationalise that if she couldn’t see them, chances were that they couldn’t see her. It wasn’t the persistent wind that was getting to her though, it was the uncomfortable eeriness of the woods that was proving difficult to ignore. The haunting silence was making her feel claustrophobic despite the vast amount of land surrounding her. The emptiness was easy to get lost in, she could see how one would fade into nothingness if they weren’t careful. It must have been only a few minutes later that she saw, in her peripheral, long, stringy, leafless branches that may as well have materialized out of thin air. It meant that she must be close now. Desperate to get this done and over with, Veronica hurried her steps and almost tripped over an unexpected pothole. She huffed as she regained her footing and ignored the throbbing ache that was beginning to travel up her left calf. She may as well have been the one who drowned in the river because the sheer thickness of the fog was quickly becoming suffocating. Unable to take the heaviness that was weighing down on her chest, she began to swat at nothing and everything all at once. Her feet were moving at its own accord and before she knew it, she had broken into a run. In a flurry of panic, she had lost sight of the Maplewood tree and somehow ended up on the other side of the fog. Veronica blinked away the stinging sensation and wiped away the liquid that was clouding her sight. She had somehow wound up at the very edge of Sweetwater River. _Wonderful_ , she thought grimly as she gathered the extra material of her cape and wound it tighter around her shivering form. She glared down at the violent stream of liquid gushing beneath her bare feet. The water was so clear that Veronica could see her own reflection looking up at her, she felt her stomach do a flip at the sight. She looked haggard, exhausted and worst of all, bitter. She hated this godforsaken town and everyone in it. If it wasn’t for the very existence of Riverdale and its people, she would have been maxing out her credit card at Bloomingdale and feasting on champagne and caviar.

“I wouldn’t do that if I was you.”

Veronica froze, her spine straightening at once.

“I doubt the town’s sheriff would appreciate a second body count so close to the first one.”

The words flew out of Veronica’s mouth before she could think to suppress it. “They haven’t found his body.”

She internally bristled as she squeezed her eyes shut, her sharp-tipped nails digging into her sides. She really shouldn’t have done that; this was the second oversight in one day. Swallowing down her chagrin, Veronica swivelled around to confront whichever townie that was too nosy for his own good. Whoever it was must have not heard that curiosity killed the cat.

“You’re a long way from home, Dorothy,” the boy quipped, barely glancing up from a battered copy of ‘ _The Lady in the Lake_.’ It almost got a chuckle out of Veronica, because really, how much more ironic could it get?

“Why do you say that?” she baited, folding her arms over her chest.

“Your expensive get-up,” he replied, short and straight to the point, “No one around here but the Blossoms have the funds to afford anything that luxurious. Plus, it’s a small town,” he shrugged and flipped over a page, “You’re hard-pressed to find a face you haven’t seen before.”

Upon closer inspection, Veronica realized that the stranger didn’t exactly look like he belonged to the town of pep either. She had observed within the first few days of her arrival that the boy population exclusively wore the football team’s bombers or primary coloured sweaters and matching shirts. It was quite pedestrian, but so was everything else in this town. He, however, was sporting a worn-in leather jacket that looked like a James Deans’ hand-me-down and a pair of blue jeans that had too many holes in them to be fashionable. He didn’t look to be any older than she was either. Now that she thought about it, he should most definitely be in first period and not hanging by the riverside.

“I wasn’t planning on doing that, just you know,” she clarified for reasons unbeknownst to her, “I wasn’t trying to kill myself or whatever it is that you assumed I was trying to do.”

“No, I didn’t peg you as the type either,” the boy drawled, sounding almost bored, “Although it did cross my mind that the sheer monotony of this town may have gotten to you.”

Veronica frowned. “What? A girl can’t go for a stroll?”

Finally, he looked up long enough from his book to challenge her with a dubious quirk of the brow. “With no shoes?”

 _Coming from a guy who’s straddling a boulder by the river,_ was what she really wanted to say but instead, she found herself saying, “Designer heels pinch, but you wouldn’t know anything about that.”

“Scathing remarks, of course. Nice diversion technique,” he scoffed out a laugh, it was humourless and largely patronizing, “Would have worked too if I cared enough to get offended by you adding insult to my inferior economic status,” he abruptly snapped his book shut and gently placed it down on the small patch of dry grass between his legs, “So, how’d you know about Jason Blossom’s undiscovered body?”

Shit.

“I can tell just by that line of questioning that you’re overdoing it with Chandler’s work,” Veronica retorted, doing her best to muffle the defensive edge creeping up in her voice, “Who do you think you are anyway? Some kind of local Phillip Marlowe?”

“Nope,” he popped his ‘p’ loud enough that it echoed all around them, “Just a local snoop who wants to know why the most recent addition to town would be skirting around Sweetwater river barefoot and how said addition just happen to have the most recent scoop on Jason Blossom’s mysterious disappearance?”

She hated how smug he looked then. He was looking at her as if he had her trapped and her only choice was to crumble under his obvious investigative tactics. It had amused her then, how wrong he had been about that. She absentmindedly wondered how long it would take for anyone to notice that a boy like him had gone missing – three days, maybe a week if the police mishandled the case? She had seen pictures of the Blossom twins before and unlike this brooding number in front of her, they were the type of missing children people cared to see on the news.

“One, it’s none of your business why I’m here or if I’m missing footwear, but I do appreciate the concern. My pedicure appointment doesn’t come cheap,” she smirked as she sauntered over to him, “Two, as you said so yourself, I am new in town. Safety is very important to me, so forgive me if I like to be kept up to date with the most recent development in this town’s death.”

She could see it in the mischievous glint of his eyes then that he didn’t buy it, but it was enough to make him drop the subject – for now anyway. He was watching her, waiting for her to reveal more than necessary so he could scrutinize every syllable that rolled over her tongue and the twitch it would cause to the corner of her painted mouth. Unfortunately, she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.

Much to her surprise, he was the first to crack. “Jughead Jones,” he introduced with the cool casualness of someone who didn’t just moments ago try to pry her for information, “I’m going to take a stab in the dark and say you’re Veronica Lodge.”

“Won’t you look at that? I’ve been in town for two seconds and already, I have a stalker on my hands.”

The boy swept back the mop of dark brown curls and jumped onto his feet. He took several wide steps towards her and the closer he got, the more uneasy she felt. There was an indiscernible swirling at the pit of her stomach when he finally reached her, his lanky form towering over her. She didn’t expect him to be so tall, but then again, she didn’t expect to feel so overwhelmed by his sudden closeness.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Park Avenue,” he sounded cold but the amused smile told a contradicting story, “I saw you breeze into Pop’s the other night. You’re not exactly easy to miss.”

Veronica nodded, swallowing down the lump forming at the back of her throat. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

She didn’t want the reminder but thanks to Jughead, it was starting to come together in her head. She distantly recalled having a chance encounter with a stranger who, now that she thought about it, looked just like him. It wasn’t anything memorable – she was leaving Pop’s and he was entering it, she nearly crashed face-first into his shoulder and he dodged it seamlessly enough that she slipped right past without so much as a pause to her exit. He had the same seafoam eyes and the same crooked nose. It was all same old, same old, except that night he had on clothes that were much more in tune with the Riverdale’s preppy spirit. She was then assaulted with flashes of suspenders, a wrinkled button-up, and some obscurely shaped beanie that she thought was quite ugly. Although it was a little early to pass judgement, she decided then that she didn’t like him covered in prep – it was just _wrong_.

“No beanie today?” she threw out, feeling bold.

A look of genuine surprise crossed his face. His stare lingered on her as he crouched down to pick up the book from the ground, taking a second to dust off the specks of dirt. “So you do remember.”

“Somewhat”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” He echoed her previous sentiment with a smile. It still wasn’t gentle but it had lost some of its mocking edge from before.

A prolonged moment of silence fell upon them and she prayed that they had reached a mutual understanding – he would not press her any further about the Blossom boy or Sweetwater and in return, she would happily pretend that it wasn’t at all peculiar that he was sitting duck by the river edge at nine in the morning. She wasn’t going to crack first by looking away so it had to him. Jughead gave the changing tides a sidelong glance as he yanked up the zip of his jacket and tucked the Chandler novel under his arm. He released a heavy breath and Veronica watched with fleeting wistfulness as a cloud of condensation disappeared as quickly as it appeared. It was summertime in New York – she should be in New York.

“You shouldn’t be out here. It’s not safe,” Jughead declared and took a quick look around them.

It was like he was checking for unwanted company but she couldn’t tell if that was just her projecting her own paranoia onto him.

“Come on, I’ll give you a ride to school,” he announced through clenched teeth like it pained him to make that offer.

Admittedly, Veronica was elated that he had given her the perfect excuse to put off doing what she was sent here to do. _It will have to wait till another day_ , she pacified herself and followed Jughead who already started to walk the other way. Still, her mind couldn’t shake the image of a red-headed boy sinking to the bottom of the lake. It wouldn’t be long now until someone stumbled across his corpse and dragged it onto shore. The hysteria will naturally follow; there will be ear piercing screams and ugly tears and then, people will start to forget. Veronica filed away the imminent terror under her list of ‘nefarious things to do’ so she could ponder over it at a more opportune time. She switched her focus to watching her steps and made sure to stay a couple of steps behind her new companion; close enough just so she didn’t lose him to the mist and far enough for her to track his every movement. First impression was important and her first impression of Jughead Jones was that he was harmless enough, but you could never be too sure given her situation. It was just as mother had warned her before she high-tailed out of the big apple: _Never let your guard down, mija. They are out for blood._

Now that they were far enough from the river that she could make out the top of the hill and a pair lacquered heels she had left on it, she felt much better – lighter, more at ease with herself.

“So,” Sick of thinking and talking about the dead, Veronica took it upon herself to strike up a more light-hearted conversation, “Let me guess since you’re _not_ stalking me, you know which school I attend too?”

Jughead rolled his eyes and shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. “If you did adequate research on Riverdale then you’d know that there’s only one school on this side of the tracks, and I could be wrong - although that’s a rarity - you don’t look like you’d enjoy the other side.”

That got her attention. “What’s on the other side of the tracks?” she asked, brow raised in intrigue.

He sucked in his bottom lip and snorted unprompted; it was as far as Veronica was aware anyway. “Everything this town doesn’t like about itself,” he replied cryptically as he kicked a moulding wine cork out of his path, “So you see, you wouldn’t be on the other side. You’re not really the kind of girl to be caught up on the wrong side of the tracks, are you, Princess?”

Even if a gun was to be pointed at her head, Veronica knew it with impenetrable certainty that she wouldn’t be able to describe in words the rumbling she felt deep inside her chest then. It was an anomalous emotion he had stirred within her when he called her ‘Princess.’ It was unlike anything else – it was poisonous, it was blistering, it was the clawing underneath her skin that she could never set free.

“Veronica,” He laid a hand on her shoulder and it was insanity that his touch burned even over the material of her cape, “Are you ok?”

She nearly laughed but not wanting to appear as if she was a complete loony, she stifled it with a cough and shrugged him off.

Her neck felt like concrete when she attempted to nod. “Just peachy,” she declared but the tremble in her voice would say otherwise, “Could you run ahead and grab me my shoes? My toes feel like they’re about to snap off.”

Jughead appraised her with a look that was half concern and half unresolved. She bit back a freakish scream that was threatening to burst out of her throat. Luckily for her, he had settled on being compliant and had gone ahead like she had requested. A second more and Veronica was sure her teeth would have dug deep enough into her flesh that blood would surface, effectively ruining her lipstick. By the time she had collected herself to an acceptable standard, he had reached the peak and the straps of her heels were dangling off his fingers. The violent wind drove Jughead’s dark curls wild and as Veronica regarded him from a safe distance, she came to the frightening conclusion that something inside of her had fallen out of place.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my many gripes with Riverdale is Veronica's characterisation. She was supposed to be HBIC at her old school and a mean girl that was trying to turn over a new leaf. They really missed the mark with her character evolution by making her turn into a good girl within the first 3 episodes. 
> 
> Anyway, if you're reading this, enjoy! I'm super grateful for all the kudos/comments that were left after my first update x

It turned out that when Jughead said he’d give her a ride, he meant on a bike. Veronica had dated her fair share of “rebellious teenage” type in her days. In New York and Los Angeles, that meant dropping an exorbitant amount of money on foreign sports cars. In Riverdale, that apparently meant owning a vintage Harley Davidson.

Jughead had been all daring and belittling as he watched her fiddle with the buckle of his spare helmet. She didn’t want to die strapped to an engine that was likely older than her, but the desire to wipe the smugness off his face was that much stronger. It was impulsive but she had thrown one leg over the thrumming engine and told him to “make it snappy.” She was Veronica Lodge; she didn’t get scared, she conquered. He must take well to orders because “snappy” was an understatement of the speed they went at. He had zoomed pass everything and anything in a dizzying blur. Veronica nearly broke a nail just from digging her fingers into the stiff leather of his jacket. She thought she may have heard him laugh at some point of the ride, but she couldn’t be sure what with her blocked ears. Once Jughead had safely put the wretched machine into park, Veronica practically ripped the helmet off her tousled mane and threw it at him. She heard it collided raucously against his chest. _Good,_ she glowered, she wanted it to bruise.

Riverdale High couldn’t get any more cliched if it tried, and Veronica had only made it to the parking lot. There was the archaic brick wall, the wonky spray-painted lines that were fast fading against the bitumen, the rusted rails that lined a set of steps and led up to the entryway. The raggedy ‘Riverdale High’ was fashioned in a classic bold Arial font and covered in blue and gold paint. It wasn’t as tacky as it could be, which was always a plus.

“Careful, Medusa. If you look at that plaque any longer, it’s going to turn into real stone,” Jughead remarked wryly as he dismounted the bike and shuffled over, “Then Weatherbee wouldn’t know who to kiss up to for such a generous donation.”

“Oh, that’s cute,” she rewarded him an ingenious smile for that display of wit as she worked on raking her hand through the stubborn knots in her hair, “Who’s Weatherbee?”

“The principal,” he said matter-of-factly and wiggled out of his jacket, “And while we’re on that topic, I’d get to class before he gets his hands on the phone and files a missing person reports on two of his students.”

Veronica would find a semblance of humour in that if it wasn’t so believable. The whole town was so tightly coiled that she was surprised the parents hadn’t called for a lockdown yet. She was so distracted by the unevenness of ‘I’ in contrast to the rest of the letters that she didn’t notice that Jughead had leapt up the steps, his elbow readily shoved up against the metal bar of the door.

“Wait, where are you going?” she barked out, scrambling to unclasp her purse as scurried to catch up to him, “Here’s a lesson in etiquette, Jones, you always wait for a lady.”

Jughead snorted and propelled the door forward, ignoring her protest. “Never said I was a gentleman,” he offered, a complacent smile on his face as they strode into the hallway, “Whether you're a lady or not, that's yet to be determined."

Veronica was too occupied with fishing through her Marc Jacobs for a lipstick that she had completely missed the part where Jughead had disappeared into thin air. _Unbelievable_ , she shook her head and scoffed out a dry laugh, _what was up with this town?_ She knew she was setting herself up for disappointment yet she couldn’t help but take a peek down the adjacent corridor – she was right, there was no trace of Jughead. It was as if he never existed in the first place. And to think she was going to put him on purse-holding duty while she reapplied, she huffed in agitation as she turned that frown upside down and slicked on an extra coating of burgundy onto her lips. She wandered further down the hall and looked out for any indication that reception was close by. She knew that they were in the middle of nowhere, but have these people not heard of signs? Veronica was about to make a right turn down another corridor when –

“Veronica?”

_Oh thank god, he came back._

Veronica threw her hands up in infuriation and spun around. “Where the hell did you go? For a second there, I thought – oh…”

She was half right, at least. It was a boy, and he was a brunette, and he likely did go to this school too – he just wasn’t Jughead.

“Hi,” the brown-haired boy glided down the hall with too much spring in his step for Veronica’s liking, “Kevin Keller. You must be Veronica Lodge. I’ve heard lots about you – well, read lots about you – I’m a self-professed devotee to the New York Times’ society page.”

“Right, of course,” her gaze fell upon his outstretched hand and she squashed the uneasiness spurred by the mention of the society page when she accepted his welcoming gesture, “I’m a loyal reader myself.”

“Something in common,” Kevin smiled, naturally enthused, “I bet it’s much more enticing to read when you’re a regular feature.”

Veronica had been told all her life that she was a jaded soul but as she stood in front of Kevin Keller, she had one question she knew was far too brash to ask: _Are you trying to bait me?_ He had a hungry look to him; he had sniffed her out and he smelt the stench of her father’s crime.

“That’s not always the case,” she replied primly, “Do you by any chance know the way to the reception? I’m afraid I’d thrown my whole day off course by missing first period.”

Kevin gave her a sympathetic look. “I could take you to reception but it’s all the way on the other side of the school. But sadly,” he held up what looked like a hall pass, “I’m on borrowed time here. Do you know what class you’re supposed to be in right now? Maybe it’s on my way back to history.”

“History!” Veronica almost cheered, “If my memory serves me right, history is supposed to be my second period.”

“Amazing! Kevin practically jumped in glee and looped his arm around hers, already tugging her down the hall, “History’s taught by Mister Honey, who’s a bit of a narc, to be honest, but we have Betty in that class. You’re going to love Betty, everyone does.”

That was about when Veronica decided to tune out. The voices in her head were loud enough, she didn’t need another one to add to the headfuck she was experiencing.

* * *

History flew by at a torturous pace. Kevin was right; Mister Honey really was a narc. First, he tried to subject her to a week’s worth of detention for “unceremoniously showing up fifteen minutes late into the class.” Kevin had been nice enough to inform the four-eyed dictator that Veronica was new and hadn’t quite found her way around the school yet. Then, the man shunned Kevin for speaking when not spoken too (“Miss Lodge can talk, can she not?”). He was marginally placated by her charm and grunted at her to go take a seat next to Miss Blossom. Veronica had hoped that she could delay meeting the Blossom girl, but it was clear to see that luck was not on her side today. She thought it was in her best interest that they got off on the right foot. She had put some thought into her first exchange with Cheryl; she imagined a friendly but remote ‘hello’, she would act shock then sympathetic when she discovers that her twin brother had drowned in Sweetwater River a couple of weeks back, then she’d offer some generic yet heartfelt advice on the immense grief the red-headed girl was experiencing and they’d bond over how rich they both were. Veronica had a penchant for getting her hook into everyone and the surviving Blossom twin was going to be her first victim in Riverdale. That plan was all good and well, except she was not what Veronica had anticipated when she imagined a distraught teenage girl. Cheryl was crimson – everything was red hot temperament. Veronica seldom felt like she was rivalled. She was queen bitch at her old school and if she was honest, the whole private school scene in NYC thought so too. Cheryl Blossom radiated the same ironed fist credence that Veronica had mastered at the age of twelve, and so she had to adjust her approach accordingly. She didn’t utter that hello, instead she arched a perfectly shaped brow and seated herself down on the chair next to Cheryl’s like the redhead had no business taking up her space. Veronica was ice, she was glacial and she was not about to be melted by fire.

When the bell rung, Veronica quickly gathered her things and strutted off, not giving Cheryl the chance to spit some venom at her. Kevin was already doing his part as the doting minion and rushed after her, salivating for more of the notoriety that came with her ex-socialite pedigree.

“Veronica,” Kevin started once they got one foot out of the classroom. His tone was coy as he shoved a petite blonde in her face and jumped into an introduction, “This is Betty Cooper, my best gal pal. She’s also your assigned peer mentor.”

The ‘gal pal’ chided Kevin with a sheepish look before turning to Veronica, giving her a tentative wave. “Hi, I’m Betty.”

“Nice to meet you, Betty,” Veronica smiled like the shark would to its prey, “I think I owe you an apology for not showing up this morning for our tour. There were a few urgent details that couldn’t wait to be tended to. I’d love it if we could reschedule for lunch, maybe?”

“Of course,” the blonde agreed, soft and gentle, “I’d love to show you around.”

Betty’s baby pink pout pulled into a sugary smile that made Veronica’s teeth ache. Oddly enough, she didn’t entirely hate the agony.

* * *

Betty Cooper was the textbook definition of the girl next door. While endearing for most parts, it was also irking how bright-eyed and bushy-tailed she was. The girl was the antithesis of everything Veronica was and for that, she was envious. Either way, she was an excellent choice for a best friend to latch onto. Everyone liked the girl next door, which meant people put stock into her judgement and well, Veronica could really do with a good review. She originally had her sight set on Cheryl Blossom because as the saying goes; keep your friends close, but your enemies closer. Upon meeting Cheryl though, she had promptly decided it was too much of a risk. Veronica was in no way a big mouth, but she was self-aware enough to know that she enjoyed oversharing after a few too many Martini’s. She thought it was better to be safe than sorry. From the looks of it, Cheryl wasn’t the forgiving kind and she doubted the bombshell would take too kindly to her version of the bombshell.

“Ooh, here comes Archie!” Kevin’s high-pitch squeal abruptly crashed her train of thought, “He went away for one summer and came back a total hunk.”

Truth to be told, Veronica had no interest in sampling any of Riverdale High’s adolescent finds. It was important that she remained focused and in the past, boys had proven to be a distraction. Her stint as a small-town girl was supposed to be temporary and the quicker she demolished the last piece of evidence tied to the Blossom investigation, the quicker she could get the hell out of dodge. She didn’t want to seem too ‘out of touch’ as a teenage girl, so she indulged in Kevin’s saucy whispers and followed his shameless ogling that went all the way across the hall.

Archie was, true to Kevin’s words, a total hunk.

“Betty here has been, not-so-secretly, carrying a torch for Archiekins since they were in the second grade –“

“Kevin!” Betty scolded, her cheeks now tinged rosy-pink. The blonde glanced at her direction and gave her a look that screamed discomfort as she mumbled, “Ignore him, Veronica, it’s silly.”

Except it was anything but, because it was at that precise moment that Veronica learned that Archie was supposed to be Betty’s little secret; other girls weren’t meant to find him appealing. And sure, that may have been the case but that was before gym and puberty. Now, Archie looked like he should forever be stuck in a slow-moving loop that immortalized his thousand-watt smile, boyish good looks and quarterback body. If this was the eighties, John Hughes would be jumping at the chance to cast the boy in one of his cheesy coming-of-age flicks.

“Hey, Betty,” Archie greeted, his big brown orbs tracing Betty’s form with adoration, but not the romantic kind. He nodded at Kevin; their own version of a simple hello. Then finally, his subdued gaze slid over to her and there, clear as day, was desire in his eyes.

“Veronica Lodge,” she stuck out her hand with the grace and poised she was raised to exude.

“Hi,” Archie uttered, dumbstruck as he took her hand, “I’m Archie – uh, Archie Andrews. You must be the new girl….Veronica…”

“That’s me,” Veronica confirmed, her tone playful as she slipped out of his slack hold.

The rejection written all over Betty’s heart-shaped face didn’t escape her attention. It was a pathetic, sad little look, and it was the furthest thing from subtle, which led Veronica to believe that Archie was dense – sweet, but dense. Good, she could use that.

Betty was about done floundering when the intercom howled noisily. The bustling hall erupted into a collective groan as the ear-grating statics jumped from one end of the volume spectrum to the other in a split second.

“Forsythe Pendleton Jones, Veronica Lodge. Please report to the principal’s office immediately.”

“Well, so much for lunch,” Veronica muttered sardonically, and readjusted the strap of her purse against the crook of her arm, “Kev,” she looked to him, hoping he got the hint, “Mind showing me to the principal’s office?”

“Oh yeah, sure,” Kevin replied, chipper as ever as he clutched onto her elbow and guided them down the busy hallway, “See you guys around,” he waved back at Barbie and Ken, but they both knew that neither of them was paying attention. 

Kevin reiterated what Veronica had already figured out herself. “Just to be clear, Betty and Archie aren’t dating, but they are endgame.”

“They are. He just doesn't know it yet,” she tipped her head to the side and grinned at him conspiratorially, “Anyhow,” she side-stepped a particularly burly number from the football team and pretended to not notice how he was honing in on her ass, “Forsythe, what kind of a cult member name is that?”

“It’s Jughead, again,” Kevin said drolly, “I wonder what kind of illegal activity he got tangled up in this time.”

“Wait, hold up,” Veronica held up a finger, her step coming to a screeching halt, “Jughead?”

“Yeah, I know right? And you thought his government name was weird,” Kevin gave a little snicker, “Anyway, the four-one-one on Jug is that he used to be best bro with Archie up until last year. He even stayed over at the Andrew’s for a few weeks after his dad’s arrest,” he rambled on, unaware that Veronica was caught in a state of complete perplexity, “Then I don’t know what happened. He got shipped off to Toledo where his mum and sister are, and when he came back,” he shook his head to add to the dramatics, “He was different.”

“What do you mean different?” Veronica asked, silently berating herself for humouring the common gossip Kevin was force-feeding her.

“He just was. I don’t really know how to describe it,” Kevin replied apathetically, “You’re better off asking Betty. She was Jughead’s only other friend outside of Archie. My personal, and favourite theory, is that he joined his father’s gang and that’s why he’s never around anymore.”

“Hey, candy boy, you gonna introduce me to the hottie or what?” questioned a smarmy voice from an equally smarmy owner that had intentionally rammed his shoulder into Kevin’s side.

“Don’t think so, Reggie,” Kevin snapped and pushed pass the dark-haired boy, hauling her along with him, “She’s not interested in contracting the latest in sexually transmitted diseases.”

“Watch your mouth, Keller,” she could hear the jock-type hollering after them and the fit of condescending laughter that followed.

“Lovely,” Veronica muttered dryly as they rounded a corner.

“Tell me about it,” Kevin mumbled lowly as they were coming up to what she presumed was Weatherbee’s office.

Kevin had moved onto a different topic, which Veronica bet was just as riveting as everything he had shared thus far. It wasn’t his fault that she immediately lost interest when Jughead, or Forsythe – whichever it is, came into eyeshot. He was lounging around the drink fountain next to the door that had been left ajar in anticipation of their arrival. Her ego had conned her into thinking that Jughead had been waiting for her, but it was also her ego that left her disillusioned because as it turned out, Jughead was waiting to be waved into the room by a moon-faced woman. 

“That’s Miss Bell, she’s Principal Weatherbee’s secretary and his right hand,” Kevin whispered, and gave her a gentle shove towards the door, “Good luck.”

Miss Bell, who looked like she still got her mousy hair wet set on the weekend, paid her no mind as she stepped through the threshold of the reception. Veronica held in a groan as she stepped up to the counter and drummed her fingers against the dusty surface of the oak wood bench.

“Hi,” Veronica beamed with as much pep as she could muster, “Veronica Lodge. Mister Weatherbee wanted to see me?”

“Oh yes,” the old woman croaked, refusing to glance up from the cross-stitch that she was trying to master, “Take a seat. He’ll see you after Mister Jones.”

She muttered a small ‘thanks’ and sat herself down in the least ratty-looking chair they had lined up against the atrocious baby puke green wall. She didn’t intend to eavesdrop but Weather was practically giving her an open invitation to do so by leaving the door open.

“Mister Jones, while I am sympathetic to yours and your family’s situation, I cannot and will not tolerate any disrespect towards this fine institution. There are rules, Mister jones, and they must be upheld by all students – that includes you!” Weatherbee’s sigh was one to be heard from miles away, “I’d like to remind you that you are only here by the states’ request that you spend three out of the required five schooling days with us each week. Given the extenuating circumstances surrounding your case, may I suggest that you try to stay in line if you do not wish to run the risk of facing suspension or even worse, expulsion?”

 _Weatherbee must really have it out for Jones_ , Veronica thought grimly as she listened to the principal tirelessly rant on about Jughead’s lack of discipline. She could understand Weatherbee’s issue with his lack of punctuality but surely, that in itself wasn’t enough to warrant a long-winded lecture about his character, where he took his lunch, the type of shoes he wore and yadi-yadi-yada. She thought she could grin and bear it, but the realisation that this could go for another ten or more so minute made her queasy. Unable to stand any more of the Weatherbee’s demonstration of his god-complex, Veronica sneaked a quick glance at Miss Bell to make sure she wasn’t under watch. The woman was under the spell of whatever it was she was trying to stitch together, which made it ideal for Veronica to slip by undetected. Doing her best to keep quiet, Veronica hitched up her pencil skirt and fumbled around her purse for the house key. She couldn’t see over the stiff beehive that Miss Bell was sporting but the woman had her head down and that was good enough for Veronica. She held the cool brass between her two fingers and carefully nicked the seam of her nylon tights with the sharp-edged. A miniature split was formed and if it all went according to plan, the rip was going to expand to a sizable hole by the time she was done dealing with Weatherbee. Content with her work, Veronica slowly rose from the cushion and tip-toed through the gaping hole of the Weatherbee’s door. 

The office was lifeless and oppressive. There were frames of irrelevant awards nailed up on the wall, a portrait reserved for families was replaced with a snapshot of a panting Dachshund and in front of the desk were a couple of guest chairs that were standard wooden chairs easily interchangeable with the ones used in the classroom. Veronica wasn’t disappointed, in fact, it was the first thing in Riverdale that had met her expectations.

“Mister Weatherbee,” Veronica cleared her throat and dismissed the blank stare from the man himself and an equally befuddled one from Jughead. She decidedly launched into her speech before she could be rebuffed, “Veronica Lodge, hi. I’m not sure if you’re familiar. I’m supposed to be starting at Riverdale High today.”

“Oh yes, Miss Lodge,” a look of recognition flooded Weatherbee’s face as he lowered into his seat and smoothed down his tie, “I thought you had been asked to wait outside while I speak to Mister Jones.”

Veronica nodded dutifully but took several steps forward so she was positioned between his desk and Jughead. “That is true, yes. However, I couldn’t help but overhear you reprehend Jughead here for missing school earlier today. And yes, I know,” she chastised the principal like one would a child when his mouth fell open, “I know that I should have waited until you were ready to see me, but I didn’t think it was right that I allow Jughead to take the fall for something of my doing.”

Weatherbee looked lost. Meanwhile, Jughead looked thoroughly intrigued by what he was witnessing.

“Earlier today, I had rather clumsily gotten my heel caught in a storm drain. In a desperate bid to save my very expensive shoes, I may have tried to yank my foot loose and taken a nasty fall as a result. Jughead must have been on his way to school when he stumbled upon me; on my hands and knees, and unable to stand on my own,” the lie tumbled out so effortlessly that it should have bothered Veronica how natural it was for her, but she felt comforted knowing she was at least doing it for an altruistic reason, “So you see, I don’t think it would be fair to punish Jughead for being an upright civilian and making sure I wasn’t badly injured. He even gave me a lift to school so I didn’t have to limp the distance.”

Weatherbee appraised her wearily as he pulled off his spectacles and pinched the bridge of his nose as an exercise in stress management. “Look, Miss Lodge, while I do so appreciate your efforts to defend Mister Jones’ for his lateness. I’m afraid you’re not grasping the full extent of Forsythe’s turbulent relationship with myself and the school board.”

Veronica tried again. “Mister Weatherbee –“

“ _Principal_ Weatherbee,” The bald man amended sternly.

“Principal Weatherbee,” she repeated slowly, putting the emphasis on his title and hoped that that was enough to appease him, “I can see that you are concerned with the facts. And if it’s facts that you want, I – “

“Veronica,” Jughead cut in impatiently, shooting her a warning look.

“Jughead,” she responded without missing a beat and shot down his protest with a pointed glare. Returning her attention to Weatherbee, Veronica tossed her hair over her shoulder and knew it was time to switch to a different approach, “Fine, since you can’t take my words for it. I guess I’ll just have to show you.”

Alarmed, Weatherbee jumped out of his seat. “Miss Lodge –“

“Come on, Lodge, give it up -"

And if Veronica was the kind of girl that still cared, she would have been silenced. How glad she was that she was no longer that girl because as she propped her foot up against the armrest of Weatherbee’s chair and rolled her skirt so far up that the lace of her pantyhose showed, she knew in that moment she was untouchable.

“Did you get a look at the damage, principal Weatherbee?” Veronica asked airily after the stunned silence had plagued the room.

“That’s quite enough, Miss Lodge,” Weatherbee was quivering with mortification, his gaze was anywhere but on the faint bruise on Veronica’s calf, “Since it is your first day, I’ll let it slide this one time,” he muttered in dismay and if it was even possible, his frown etched even deeper into his skin when his beady eyes moved to Jughead, “That goes for you too, Mister Jones. But I don’t want to see either of you back here for the rest of this term, do you understand?”

“Understood,” Veronica smirked in triumph and looked expectantly at the dark-haired boy standing beside her, “Forsythe,” she addressed, daring him to correct her.

Jughead rolled his eyes but begrudgingly grounded out an annoyed ‘crystal.’ It was far from sincere, but Weatherbee must have not cared because he was quick to wave them both out of his office. The two of them exchanged a curt nod and made a beeline for the doorway. They didn’t need to be told twice to leave.

Jughead gestured exaggeratedly at the door as he held it open for her. “Ladies first.”

“Why thank you,” she simpered at the acknowledgement and mockingly curtsied before she made her exit.

The second the door swung shut behind them, Jughead was on her case.

“What was that?”

“That,” Veronica clarified, “Was me getting you out of a jam. You’re welcome by the way.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” he argued in a hushed voice, eying a group of passerby students with odd apprehensiveness. 

“Never said you did,” she countered with a razor-sharped smile.

Jughead narrowed his stormy blue eyes at her, sceptical as ever. It was as she had predicted from the beginning – he was _the_ one to win over.

“Ok, say you did do me a favour,” he bit out and she couldn’t gauge if he was unhappy about that or not, “A round of applause for that tamed interpretation of ‘ _Basic Instinct_ ’. Now that that’s over with, what do you want?”

“I wasn’t out to seduce and destroy, _Forsythe_ ,” she articulated his name like a menace, “Try rescuing the local school rebel next time when you only have a bruise and nylon stockings to work with. You did a decent thing by giving me a ride to school, and I did a decent thing in return by getting Weatherbee out of your hair. What’s so terrible about that?”

He assessed her with the precision of someone who was on a mission to disarm a bomb. Veronica tried to combat this by feigning innocence but to no avail; Jughead Jones was one tough nut to crack.

“Nothing,” the boy nodded affirmatively as his gaze dropped to the floor, suddenly evasive. He mustered up a thin smile and said, “That was the opposite of terrible actually. So I guess what I’m trying to say is…thanks for having my back.”

Self-satisfied, she grinned up at him and teased, “Was that so hard?”

“You have no idea,” Jughead muttered under his breath and turned on his heel, bidding a hasty farewell, “See you around, Lodge.”

Veronica was tempted to call out after him – ask where he was heading, what he was getting up to, but something told her that she was better off waiting for a more opportune time. She could be a narcissistic at times but she was also a realist; most people took an immediate liking to her. She was the dream girl – boys wanted to fuck her and girls wanted to fucking be her. People didn’t jump down her throat for trying to help them. No, they say “Thank you, Veronica. You’re the best!” and littered the ground she walked on with kisses and rose petals. Not only was he ungrateful for her good deed, but he was also suspicious of it.

Forsythe Pendleton Jones was shaping up to be trouble; that made two of them then.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long update and since I don't know if I'll be able to maintain the length for the coming chapters, enjoy! 
> 
> As always, thanks so much for all the kudos and comments! I appreciate all the support and it's really encouraged me to finish off this chapter ASAP.

Veronica was exhausted by the time she returned to the Pembrooke. She had kicked off her shoes at the front door and stripped out of her clothes in record time. Riverdale High and its students were, for lack of a better word, draining. Kevin and co. were ceaseless with their questions – where did she eat, where did she shop, who did she know, who did she not know. It was overkill and although she expected the attention, she wasn’t used to having to second guess every other word that came out of her mouth. She never realised how difficult it was to maintain an aura of glitz and glamour without divulging too much.

Breathing out a tired sigh, Veronica plopped down on her queen-size bed and wiggled on a pair of sweat shorts. It was probably the least fabulous thing she owned and she would never be caught dead in them, but it was the kind of sloppy cosiness she needed right now.

She was in the middle of pulling a tank top over her shoulders when the doors to her bedroom burst open. _For fuck’s sake_ , _can’t she get one minute alone around here?_ Veronica released a loud groan into her pillow and sat up in defiance.

“Have you not heard of knocking? It’s common practice, just so you know,” she bemoaned.

The skinny woman flicked her bob hair over her shoulder and pranced in like she was a woman with a plan. Truthfully, Veronica suspected that her half-sister was always up to something.

“It may be,” Hermosa smirked, her hands firm on her hips, “But not in my house.”

“I was changing,” Veronica said agitatedly, “A little warning was warranted, don’t you think?”

“I’ll try to keep that in mind next time, can’t promise anything though,” she said snippily, “How was your first day amongst peasants?”

“Fine,” Veronica replied, her tone clipped, “You shouldn’t call them peasants, you know. Your classism is showing.”

The woman shrugged her frail shoulders. “Just saying what you’re thinking. Anyway,” Hermosa checked the Cartier adorning her wrist, “Dinner will be ready in ten. Please be ready by then, I have a few things I wish to discuss with you going forward.”

“Whatever it is, can we hash it out now?” Veronica asked tartly, “I would like to make a head start on the assigned readings. Apparently, the kids in this town are very studious; some of them are already two-weeks ahead with the course work.”

Hermosa blinked, her expression unreadable. “Of course,” she nodded, folding her twig-like limbs over her torso, “Seeing as you will be staying at the Pembrooke indefinitely, I’m going to have to ask you to contribute financially.”

“Excuse me?” Veronica blanched, “I don’t know what kind of Lynchian delusion you’re under but the Pembrook is owned by daddy and _paid_ for by him.”

“I bought it from him some years ago,” Hermosa said, unfazed, “So to be technical, no, I am not under some Lynchian delusion. The Pembrooke is mine and you’re living under _my_ roof, expense-free. Doesn’t seem very fair, does it?”

Veronica so badly wished that she could gouch the bitch’s eyes out – sister or not. “Ok, fine,” she gritted out, her jaw setting, “How would you like me to rectify that then? Hand over my Mastercard? Make a forth-nightly payment? What?”

“No, that won’t be necessary,” Hermosa flashed her teeth, her smile gleamed mean, “You will be covering the extra shift at Pop’s Chock’lit Shoppe. I did initially consider making you the resident waitress for my other business venture, La Bonne Nuit, but seeing as you are underage, I thought I’d do the right thing and spare you the burden of working at a nightclub.”

“Oh, how generous of you,” she bristled, stomping over to her closet for a cardigan, “Don’t you think the locals will find it a little odd that a New York socialite with enough money to pay their mortgage two times over is taking down their food orders and wiping up counters?”

Hermosa smirked. “Hiram said you were a smart girl. You’ll think of something.”

It dawned on Veronica that Hermosa’s mean streak likely had less to do with financial compensation and more to do with her sister’s unaddressed daddy issues. She almost snorted at that; it was poignant how opposing their relationships with their fathers were yet they were stuck in the same shithole. Veronica was the only daughter who had the claim to the Lodge legacy, and the one with her wings crushed by the weight of her crown. And Hermosa, the forgotten daughter conceived in secrecy and emancipated by the shame that came with it.

Veronica shook her head vehemently, her knuckle a sickly white around the cashmere as she ripped it off the wooden hanger and flung it at the other Lodge woman. “This is not fair.”

Hermosa’s laugh was chilling as she duct behind the door just in time to avoid getting hit in the face, her long fingers hovering over the doorknob. “There’s nothing fair about being a Lodge, Veronica. Try to remember that.”

* * *

The next few days Veronica went on as if everything was right as rain.

She did all the things a new girl would at a new school. She made the introductory rounds in all her classes, she stuck a small vanity onto the door of her locker and surrounded it with a handful of polaroids of her and her friends from the big city, she flipped through Macbeth with Betty during their shared free period, she checked out school clubs and gave a non-committal answer whenever asked to join. For the most part, Veronica felt confident that she had secured a spot in the Betty, Kevin and Archie friendship group. She adored Betty, loved Kevin and more than liked the sight of Archie. The trio was the perfect blend of well-liked yet lowkey. Still, it was always nice to keep your peeled for options so she decided to expand her horizons by scoping out potential acquaintances from various cliques. The geeks had Ethel Muggs, who despite her skittish exterior, surprisingly knew more about the inner working of Riverdale High than she let on. The cheerleader had Midge Klump, a good girl with a naughty edge who Veronica bonded with over shared tales of late-night debauchery. The musos were basically owned by Josie McCoy who made the rare intersection of extreme popularity and extreme musical talent. Her mother was the mayor and Veronica would rather be in with power than out. Other than Archie, the jocks had Reggie Mantle, who was cute but too much of a prick for her to take seriously. Moose Mason wasn’t any better but he was dating Midge so the cheerleaders tolerated him if need be. Then there was Chuck Clayton, a major hottie that was immediately all over her upon first sighting in Biology. She welcomed the flirtation, but she wasn’t about to succumb to his roguish charm and end up losing sight of her goal.

And Jughead, well, she hadn’t quite figured that one out yet. To be fair, there wasn’t nearly enough information for her to accurately deduce which tribe he belonged to. He was barely at school and when he was, she only saw him in English. He had not spoken one word to her since the incident with Weatherbee. She was beginning to think that he was a -

“Loner,” Kevin declared, completing the puzzle that she had been turning over in her mind.

Veronica snapped out of her musing. “Huh?”

“Ronnie,” Archie chided good-naturedly from across the lunch table, “Did you even hear any of what we were talking about?”

She hated the way he called her Ronnie, it was like the whining of a petulant child. She would never tell him that though.

“Sorry, I got distracted watching Cheryl go all Heather’s on that sophomore Vixen’s for wearing beige,” Veronica excused and smoothed over the creases on Betty’s forehead with a smile, “What were we gossiping about?”

“We weren’t gossiping,” Betty defended, nibbling on the brown crust of her egg sandwich, “We were having a perfectly valid discussion concerning Jughead’s wellbeing.”

“I was saying that he’s a loner,” Kevin supplied breezily, throwing a grape into his gob, “Was back then, even more so now that Archie has decided to ditch him.”

“Kev! Come on, man,” Archie scolded, raising his voice without intending to do so, “Now what’s Ronnie going to think of me?” he attempted to speak in jest to dissipate some of the guilt that was practically radiating off him in waves, “But no, seriously, it wasn’t like that. Jug and I just grew apart, it happens.”

“We know, Arch. It’s not your fault,” Betty said earnestly and shot her hand out to pat Archie’s affectionately, “He made his choice when he went over to the Southside.”

Veronica and Kevin exchanged an awkward look that left them both squirming in their seats. She sensed she wasn’t the only one who felt like she was intruding on a private moment. If she was being honest, Archie and Betty’s unspoken cosmic connection gave her the heebies jeebies. No one should be able to communicate without verbalising a single word.

“Right,” Veronica had enough of the uncomfortable silence and decided that while they were on the topic, she may as well get a head start on gathering some basic information, “That still doesn’t explain why Weatherbee hates him with a passion.”

Kevin perked up at this, but Betty got to it before the brunette had the chance to say his piece. “None of the teachers like Jughead, but it’s not his fault,” Betty glanced around wearily before continuing, “Jug’s actually really bright. They have this silly prejudice against him because of his family’s criminal history. He used to write for the Blue and Gold, and he put out some of the best articles to ever come out of this school.”

Kevin could barely contain himself from adding his two cents, “It doesn’t help that Cheryl hates his guts.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Archie dismissed but she could see it in the stiff lines of his broad shoulders that he wasn’t buying what he was trying to sell.

Veronica bit the inside of her cheek, keeping her eyes lowered to her salad as she picked at the lettuce with her fork. “I could be wrong but Cheryl doesn’t seem like she likes anyone to me.”

“Kevin’s right,” Betty nodded rigidly, “Cheryl’s going through a lot right now and Jughead is just a convenient punching bag for her anger issues.”

Kevin attacked her with an incredulous look. “I don’t think it’s a matter of convenience, Betty. Cheryl swears up and down that FP sold Jason performance-enhancing drugs.”

“You guys don’t actually believe that bullshit, do you?” Archie spluttered, then threw both arms up in resignation, “You know what, I’m out of here. Jughead’s our friend, at least I thought he was, and friends don’t talk shit behind each other’s back,” he looked to Veronica and held out his hand, beckoning her to take it, “Come on, Ronnie, let’s get to Economics. It’s only the first week back, I seriously can’t afford to fall behind this year.”

Veronica didn’t want to play favourites but at this point, Archie was probably her best bet at getting to the truth. Kevin may be the reigning gossip champ but since he was neither close with the Cheryl or Jughead, he didn’t make for a reliable source. Meanwhile, Betty was too worried about what Archie thought to give her honest opinion on the matter. So at the risk of trampling all over her blonde friend’s bleeding heart, she took Archie’s hand and allowed him to pull her onto her feet.

“I’ll see you guys after?” Veronica offered belatedly but Archie was already pulling her away.

She was attracted to Archie, there was no denying that. But could you blame her? He was the poster boy for a heterosexual teenage dream and the truth was Veronica should want to steal him away from Betty, except the thought of doing so didn’t appeal to her, and that in itself was surprising. After all, she had a history of doing just that. She graduated from stolen toys to stolen boys, and before she knew it, all her beaus were not hers to hold. But even now, with Archie’s muscular arm circled around her and his palm warm against the sliver of exposed skin between her mini-skirt and cropped turtleneck, Veronica felt nothing. It was empty, it was devoid of the craving to consume him until he had nothing left to give to poor Betty.

“Can you believe them? Talking about Jughead like that,” Archie laughed sheepishly as he reached over to scratch the back of his head, “I’m sorry that you had to see me get so worked up over it.”

 _The male-kind getting irrationally angry? Oh, she’s never seen that one before_ , Veronica thought to herself snarkily but hid it behind an empathetic smile. “No need for apologies, Archiekins. I can see that everyone is tightly wound after the tragic death that has plagued this town, and rightfully so, I mean all of you did go to school with Jason.”

“Yeah,” Archie nodded, unable to meet her eyes as he waved back at a one-third of the baseball team, “He was a really important part of our team, so it’s been a difficult time for the guys and myself. I can’t imagine what Cheryl and her family must be going through.”

Veronica had paid the trophy room a visit and it didn’t take much for her to conclude that Jason Blossom’s death had left a sizable hole in the heart of the Riverdale community. His portrait was placed at the forefront of the display, right next to the 2016 Championship trophy, and wow, wasn’t he something to look at? Some men were handsome, some were hot, but Jason was angelic. Veronica had found herself so drawn to the photograph that she was bent all out of shape by the time she was finished squinting at it. She had a flick through some of the newsletters from last year and as it turned out, the Blossom heir had quite the impressive track record – he was the quarterback, and the captain of the school’s water polo team, _and_ he was set to inherit the lucrative Blossom’s Maple farm business from his father. It was just too good to be true. _Maybe that’s why he had to die_ ; Veronica knew it was a dark thought to have but someone had to kill him or else he wouldn’t have become a problem for her in the first place.

He was the golden boy and now that he was gone, Archie would take his place.

“And Polly…” Archie trailed off as they stopped at his locker. He flicked the lock open and pulled out a couple of textbooks, sighing, “I haven’t seen her since Jason disappeared, but I can only imagine how devasted she was when she got the news.”

Veronica immediately lost interest in her nailbeds.

Archie must have seen the blank look on her face and gotten the hint. “Oh, has Betty not told you about her sister?”

“No,” Veronica said, wondering why that was the case, “No, I don’t believe she has.”

“It’s been pretty rough on her, that’s probably why she hasn’t told you about it,” Archie explained with a reassuring smile, “She told Kev and I that one time right after her parents drove Polly upstate. She hasn’t brought it up since.”

“Where did she go?”

The red-headed boy’s eyes widened at that question and she could see panic and conflict swirling within them. His immaculate cheekbones were even more pronounced than usual as he clenched his jaw shut. He was trying to resist her; it was noble of him to be the keeper of Betty’s secret. It was just too bad that Veronica always won.

“You can tell me.”

She tucked a stray curl behind her ear and took a step closer, pressing up ever so slightly against him. She could feel his knee, wedged between her legs. The heels put her just under his chin, it was the right height difference for the full effect of her beckoning gaze to be felt. Her nimble fingers toyed with the buttons of his school bomber and as his lips widened into a clumsy, lopsided grin, Veronica felt his resistance give way. She didn’t need to tell the lie this time; he already presumed that it would be their little secret.

“Ronnie,” Archie laughed quietly as his clammy hand moved to the curve of her back. He didn’t pull her in, but he didn’t push her away either. “Look, I don’t know if I should be telling you this so you have to pretend like you didn’t know if Betty ever decides to talk about it, alright?”

“Don’t worry, Archiekins,” Veronica cooed, her smile full of promise but her fingers crossed behind her back.

Archie looked more than placated by this.

“Mister and Missus Cooper are a bit,” the stud hesitated, “They’re a bit you know…”

“Nuts? Crazy? Wacko?” Veronica filled in the blank, hoping they could just move along already

“A bit, yeah,” Archie affirmed, “They never liked that Polly was dating Jason and kept setting all these ground rules to keep them apart. Betty would always have to cover for Polly whenever she snuck out late at night to go see Jason. So then, one day their parents just decided that they had enough and sent Polly to Sisters of Quiet Mercy. They thought at least that way they knew where she was at all times and she was far enough that Jason wouldn’t be able to reach her.”

“Sisters of Quiet Mercy?” Veronica wrinkled her nose in disdain, “What’s that? A coven?”

“Close. It’s actually a group home.”

Veronica couldn’t help but wonder if the Coopers had wanted Jason dead. She knew that it was a big reach, but the groundwork was there. It wouldn’t be the first time that a couple of helicopter parents took the word “protective” a little too far and wound up with blood on their hands. True crime documentaries could attest to that. But why would Hiram care enough about some suburban family to help them commit murder? That wasn’t right, her father didn’t even care enough about his own daughter to keep her out of his illegal dealings, so there was no way that he’d do a bunch of small-town hicks a favour. Maybe the Coopers paid handsomely. Although judging by the cheap polyester of Betty’s granny sweaters, she highly doubted that they had the kind of money her father and his business associates would require to get the job done.

She chewed on her lips. “That bad, huh?”

Archie chuckled sheepishly as he held the door to the classroom open for her, “You have no idea.”

* * *

Pop Tate was not a man of many words.

Veronica sensed this was the case from the very first time she set foot in his humble establishment. His smile was gentle and his eyes were kind. Yes, Pop was a good man and so, she didn’t understand why he spoke so highly of her half-sister.

“Miss Hermosa is a good woman – a generous woman,” he told her, his voice mellow as he showed her how to work the milkshake maker, “You’re lucky to have her as a sister.”

Veronica didn’t have the heart to tell him that he was sadly mistaken and Hermosa was actually a witch with no soul. Later when he handed her the uniform, Veronica was more confident than ever that she was right. If Hermosa had an ounce of compassion, she wouldn’t have forced Veronica into working this job knowing that she’d effectively be making her a fashion victim. She couldn’t believe this is what her life had come to. She was supposed to be wearing haute couture, not _this_. This, was a washed-out mustard dress that came complete with a wonky shawl collar and unflattering white panels stitched onto the chest area. _Ugly was an understatement,_ Veronica thought, cringing at her own reflection as she took in just how ill-fighting the uniform was. She got creative with a handful of bobby pins and attempted to make some minor adjustments, but it only did so much to disguise the odd bulging thanks to the bulky lining of the skirt. She was a big girl, Veronica tried to tell herself as she sucked it up and gathered her glossy locks into a tight ponytail.

“You’re on, Veronica,” a pimply boy named Dilton said nervously, his shifty eyes glued to the floor as he handed her an empty tray, “G – Good luck on your first shift.”

“Thanks,” she grumbled meanly and pushed past him, nearly knocking him over in the process.

Veronica couldn’t even bring herself to put on a cheery front as she prodded the swing door open with her knee and emerged from the kitchen. Pop had already taken his post behind the counter and was wiping up the remnant of the last customer’s chilli dog. He took notice of her entrance and encouraged her with a fatherly smile that left her feeling like she was being a spoiled brat. She looked around the mostly empty diner and spotted a couple who had packed themselves into the same side of the booth. The boy had one arm thrown around her shoulder while the girl fiddled with the tabletop jukebox, giggling obnoxiously at something he had whispered to her while nibbling her ear. 

_Gross,_ Veronica tried to contain her disgust as she approached the table and pulled out a notepad and a pen. “Welcome to Pop’s Chocklit Shoppe. What can I get you two love birds today?”

They were too busy pawing at each other that they didn’t even glance her way. The girl wanted a vanilla milkshake with the side of fries and the boyfriend wanted the same but with a chocolate shake. _Fine, easy, boring,_ Veronica scribbled it down accordingly and ripped the paper off the spiral binder. _This was going to be a long night_ , she thought direly as she stuck the order onto the ticket holders.

Veronica was about seven orders in when a familiar face walked through the door. And he looked, well, messy.

Jughead had on a boxy white tee, it was not much different from the one he had on the other day, except this one was all rumpled up and had grease stains all over the front of it. His hair looked like it could really benefit from a brush, and the shadow under his eyes told her that his sleeping pattern was not the greatest. Poor self-care, two-day-old laundry, and too much caffeine – that was a typical teenage boy for you, but add a bloodied knuckle to that equation? That was bound to set off some alarm bells. She hung back behind the counter, her thumb pressing down on the nozzle of the cool whip can as she watched him pass by.

He slid into the booth two down from the one closest to the entrance and slumped against the leather seat as one would on their own couch after a long day at work. _Dramatic much_ , her insides sneered, _no teenager should ever look that goddamn broken_. Veronica tried not to think about hypocritical that sounded – the name Lodge itself meant being split open in nine different ways, it was not the same – _they_ were not the same. She dumped the rest of the cool whip in the banana split and took it over to the pair of freshman girls. She plastered on a cordial smile, taking small pleasure in how twitchy they were in her presence. At least now she knew her reign of terror didn’t end in New York.

She wiped her damp hands on the apron and felt the sick thrill of taking him by surprise. He’d never see her coming, she liked the thought of that

“What can I get you today?”

His indigo eyes were glued to the bright screen of his laptop, his fingers that were not scrubbed bare of dry blood glided over the keyboard with practiced fluidity. 

“Yeah…um…can I get three cheeseburgers with two sides of fries and onion rings? And some coffee as well when you can?”

She did her best to be subtle as she sneaked a glance at his bandaged hand. She could tell just by the angry patch of purple that had spread pass the layers of gauze that it must have been quite the nasty incident, whatever it was. Whoever it was that patched him up did a sloppy job, the dressing was barely holding up together and dry blood had crusted over parts of it in random splotches.

Veronica arched a brow. “Sure, that’s all you want, Jones?”

She saw his hands freeze, his eyelids flutter, his finger flex. It was like watching a machine do a self-induced reboot.

He looked up at her, nonplussed. The recovery was quick, precise as his lips flattened and muddied gaze cleared. “That’s all. Thanks.”

Veronica frowned. _Well, that was disappointing,_ she thought as she wrote down his order. In the end, she couldn’t help herself and had to ask, “You’re not even the least bit curious as to why I’m working at Pop’s?”

“Oh, I’m curious,” Jughead said, loud and clear as he went back to typing, “Although I know better than to ask unwanted questions. Unless you feel like sharing with the class.”

She didn’t have to look up from her pen and paper to know that that was a challenge, and he was waiting for her response.

Veronica chose to play defence. “What happened to your hand?”

Jughead swivelled his body around so he could level with her. “Is that how it’s gonna be? You tell me things, so I’d have to tell you things.”

“Sounds like a perfectly fair arrangement to me.”

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Isn’t the whole point of a job so that you, you know, work?”

Veronica made a show of looking around the deserted diner. “Not when there’s no work to be done,” she said complacently, “So what do you say, Jones, you gonna let me in on your little secret so you can get in on mine?”

His thumb hovered over the space bar, and she watched in delight as his tongue flicked out and swiped over the cut on his bottom lip. It was just too good to resist, she knew it and he knew it too.

“Fine,” he said shortly, “But coffee first.”

“Coming right up.”

Veronica rang up his order with quickness, picked up the steaming pot of coffee on the way back and sidled into the booth across from him.

“Your order’s on me so you go first.”

Jughead scoffed. “It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time,” she replied without missing a beat and poured him a cup of black coffee.

He took a sip, his smirk wrapped around the rim of the cup. “Ok, remember that you asked for it Lodge.”

* * *

It didn’t come as much of a surprise to Veronica that Riverdale was all shady businesses and hidden secrets. No, that wasn’t that had her in a whirlwind; it was the fact that Jughead Jones was shrouded in it.

He didn’t reveal more than promised, but even that was enough for Veronica to do the rest of the guesswork. In his own words, Jughead was born on the wrong side of the tracks, from a family the town wish it had erased, and that was how he wound up working at a run-down garage on the Southside for twenty dollars an hour. He didn’t enjoy the work but it kept the lights on and the water running, that was why school was cut in half. A disgruntled drunk had picked a fight with him over the work he’d done on his bike. Apparently, the paint job wasn’t up to scratch. It started with the man throwing the first punch and it ended with Jughead being dragged from under the man’s battered body by his manager. He didn’t know if this meant he was fired, maybe it was better if he was. He never explicitly spoke about his dad but there was a far-away look in his eyes when he mentioned the trailer that he now occupied by himself. It was a sad story but Veronica could tell that he didn’t want sad, he didn’t want pity, he wanted anger. She knew this because it was the same anger that was burning inside of her.

“So Hermosa put you to work. How the mighty has fallen,” he joked after she finished telling her side of the story, “You think she’s trying to get even or do you think that’s her way of ingraining some work ethics into you?”

Veronica rolled her eyes and stole an onion ring, even though it was technically hers – she did pay for it. “I have plenty of work ethics on my own, thank you very much.”

“Oh yeah, I bet that grooming routine of yours requires a lot of work to maintain.”

Jughead must have noticed that he made a misstep because he couldn’t take the last of his meal off the plate. If there was one thing Veronica had learned from their short time together, it’s that Jughead Jones did not hesitate when it came to food.

“I’ll have you know that I put a lot of work into all three charity benefits I helped run in New York and the other two galas as a representative from the student council. I might know close to nothing about manual labour, but I know more about negotiating and closing deals than most grown men will ever do in this last time,” she told him, cool, calm and collected as she popped some curly fries into her mouth and followed it with a large gulp of the black coffee.

When Veronica eventually met his eyes again, he no longer looked like a boy drowning in desolation. He was watching her under the glow of technicolour lights and she didn’t feel so out of place anymore. It gave her hope that things may turn out fine in the end; that she may just make it out of this alive.

“Somehow, I don’t doubt that,” he said with a bemused smile before taking a large chunk out of his burger.

She smirked. “Oh good, you know how to be agreeable.”

Jughead shook his head, chuckling as he crumpled up the wrapping paper in his hand and dropped it into the empty fries basket. “I should go,” he told her with a tired sigh and nodded at the turquoise-framed clock that hung up above their heads, “It’s late and it’s a school day for me tomorrow.”

“Right,” she concurred and began to gather up the rubbish for the recycling, “I witnessed first-hand what happened the other day with Principal Weatherbee. We wouldn’t want a repeat of that.”

“No, we wouldn’t,” Jughead echoed, snatching up the leather jacket he had draped over his side of the booth then folded over his laptop, “Please don’t launch into a whole spiel about how it’s been nice hanging out,” he said half-jokingly but at the same time, he was dead serious, “That would be weird and uncomfortable, so can we just agree to skip over that part?”

Veronica was about to reply with something witty and maybe even flirtatious when the door flew open with so much vigour that it caused the bell nearly flew off its hinge. It was a tornado of crimson and she didn’t have to take a closer look to know it’s Cheryl Blossom that just blew into her sister’s establishment.

Jughead leaned over and whispered, “I can’t be the only one who gets a headache from all the red she wears,”

She couldn’t help but snort. However, the hilarity was short-lived because Cheryl had zeroed in on her and she was on her way over.

“Shit,” Veronica muttered a little too loud for her liking.

“Evening, New York’s new favourite social pariah,” Cheryl greeted, her smile big and her attitude bigger, “And you too, outlaw hipster. Now, scram. Veronica and I have some business to discuss and it doesn’t involve the poor, the homeless or narcotics.”

“I’m sure whatever it is you need to say to me, you can say in front of Jughead, Cheryl,” Veronica told the red-head coldly.

Cheryl basically hissed as she gave her a once over. “Um, why are you in a waitress uniform? And don’t tell me you were hanging out with the resident loser with a capital L?"

“You sure are getting creative with those insults, Cheryl,” Jughead mumbled sarcastically.

“Shut up, Forsythe. I don’t remember talking to you,” the bombshell spat, narrowing her eyes at him, “In spite of your horrid taste in acquaintances, the River Vixens could do with a new face. Rehearsals happen every Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday after school. We meet at the gym, four sharp, no exceptions –“

“Cheryl,” Veronica cut in sharply, making the other girl flinch at the brusqueness, “While I am flattered that you want me on your squad, I’m not interested so you can keep your offer.”

Jughead was gawking at her like she had grown another head. And Cheryl looked like she was either ready to burst into laughter or into flames, or both simultaneously.

“I know you’re new in town, Veronica, but I don’t think you comprehend the full weight of my offer to you. I don’t ask just anyone to join my squad,” Cheryl gave a good illusion of persuasion but it was as threatening as it gets, “Since I am in a charitable mood, I’ll permit you some time to reconsider. Say next week, same date and time for your final decision?"

Veronica took one large step forward, so she was toe to toe with the Blossom Girl. “Read my lips, Cheryl,” she said barely above a whisper,” “No”

She was positive Cheryl felt it too; the way all the air seemed to have been sucked out of the place with just one word between them. It was fire meets ice and nothing good could come of this.

“Have it your way,” Cheryl’s tone was unnervingly calm, her ruby lips splitting into a condescending smile as she pranced off in a swirl of bruised egos.

Veronica thought she had made it out unscathed from her tense exchange with the Blossom girl’s when she heard a wet splash. Jughead and her both turned at the noise and Veronica could have sworn she saw red when her eyes landed on the puddle of strawberry milkshake pooling on the lino floor. Cheryl dumped a twenty-dollar bill on the scene of the crime and taunted her with a spiteful ‘toodles’ before click-clacking out of the door like she hadn’t just cost her an extra hour of clean-up work.

“Seriously?” She threw her arms up in anger-driven exasperation and stomped over to the broom closet, “Fucking bitch.”

“Don’t grab the sponge,” Veronica heard Jughead advise from behind her just as her hand shot out to grab said item, “Get the mop and bucket.”

She had a feeling that Jones knew more about tidying up than she did, so she did as told. When she returned with the cleaning appliances, Jughead was once again stripped out of his leather jacket and the legs of his jeans were cuffed over his ankles. He plucked the mop of her grasp before she could do or say anything, and began to soak up the gooey mess with it. Veronica knew that she shouldn’t be letting him scrub up the mess she had brought upon herself, but it was one of the nicest gestures she had gotten out of anyone since her arrival and she was dying to bask in the glow of some benevolence.

“This town has a nasty habit of kicking down people who refuse to conform to its uninspired mould,” Jughead muttered plainly as he deposited the mop and the dirty liquid into the bucket, squeezing it dry, “Cheryl only has it out for you, because you’re not a subservient talking stick like the rest of her school peers and that scares her.”

“In other words, Cheryl enjoys being tyrannical,” Veronica surmised as she watched him do her work for her.

“In other words…she’s going to keep picking away at you until you break,” he exhaled so deeply that both his shoulders sagged, “For what it’s worth, I think you’d make a good cheerleader.”

Frankly, Veronica didn’t know if that was a compliment or an insult.

* * *

That was it, Veronica was a woman on the verge and she had enough.

Banishing her to poor man’s Twin Peaks was one thing, but making her prisoner to her twisted sister was a new level of punishment she wasn’t about to be subjected to. She was prepared to do a lot of things but no one was going to make her get down on her literal hands and knees and scrub the dirty floors of some half-broke diner.

Veronica pleaded with Smithers to wait within walking distance of Sweetwater River. He was, understandably, apprehensive about the whole proposition, but she was not the type to take a ‘no’ for an answer so they had settled upon the less convenient route of dropping her off at the closest bus stop afterwards. It was going to be a simple, ‘in-and-out’ job – she was going to dig up whatever it was that was buried under that Maplewood tree, carry it over to the next town and eradicate it from existence. She would then book a taxi service for an extended road trip back to New York City.

She didn’t care that her mother had signed her up for a full semester, she was getting out and the devil himself couldn’t stop her. 

So she stood, in the teeth-clattering cold and dug, and dug, and dug some more until the tip of the shovel made an ugly janky noise against a surface she couldn’t quite see. She felt desperate, fucking frantic after that she heard the sound – the first fucking sound to be heard in the last hour since she’s been down here. She threw the shovel aside and dropped to her knees. She clumsily pulled her lambskin gloves off and began to claw at the dirt with her bare hands like there was no tomorrow. She wanted out, _needed_ out and this was her ticket out of town. She felt her nail drag painfully against something. She was probably bleeding all over the damn thing but this was not the time for pain. She rifled through her bag for a flashlight and held it over the sizable hole she had dug up. What the hell was that, a toolbox? Veronica hooked her fingers through the flimsy handle and pulled it out from the bottomless pit of dirt. Relief was an understatement of the feeling that rippled through her when she saw that there was no lock on it. She wasted no time in dusting off the thin layer of dirt and fumbled the paddles open.

As Veronica squinted against the darkness, she was convinced her eyes were playing tricks on her. She felt around her for the flashlight but as her patience ran thin, she decided to go the convenient route and reached into her pocket for her phone.

_What the fuck?_

She gingerly picked up the perfectly white and perfectly crisp manila envelope that laid by its lonesome inside the box. The flap wasn’t sealed and was tucked into the back. She felt her fingers tremble, she saw how bad it was when she opened the letter up. There was a square piece of paper nestled inside. Veronica swore she saw black and blue when she read the words printed on it: 

_You take care of mine, and I’ll take care of yours._

Then she felt the weight in her palm and at first, she thought it must have been her mind warning her physical of the stupendous dread that was about to consume her whole. It wasn’t. As Veronica steadied her hand and tipped the envelope to the side, she felt something – it was small but it was something – roll over. She couldn’t breathe, could barely keep her body upright as she took a forbidden peak.

There it was, glimmering under the stars and covered in dry blood – a silver bullet.

Veronica couldn’t dial the number fast enough.

“We have a problem.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know how I said the last update that I'm unsure if future chapters will be as long? Well, I lied lol. This is about the same length. This chapter is mainly used to flesh out the mystery aspect of the overall plot, but next chapter is going to focus on the interactions between Jughead/Veronica. 
> 
> As always, thanks for all the kudos/comments. I always appreciate it and much love to you guys. Hope everyone is staying inside as much as possible and hope you and your families are safe at home x

It was on a Wednesday during Chemistry that Veronica decided that she was royally fucked.

The evidence was gone, and not in the way they had planned for. The pistol that killed Jason Blossom was missing and it, as well as the future of the Lodge’s, was in the hands of some unknown confidant bound by a mutual set of dirty secrets. There was no other way around it, Veronica was in some deep shit.

Her mother thought so too. As long as Veronica could remember, Hermione Lodge was a master at masking her true emotions. She detested all her upper-crust friends with no exception, but none of them had a clue. Her mother, the woman who always kept her cards close to her chest, was freaked. Veronica heard it over the phone on that ill-fated night. The agonizing hitch in her mother’s voice sent a very clear message – they were in real trouble this time. Hermione had explained, as calmly as possible, that the bullet would have been extracted out of the Blossom’s boy skull and that Veronica was not to lose it under any circumstances. She had to hold the bile that was crawling up her throat as she put aside the letter and its incriminating content. She was then instructed by her mother to “act like everything’s normal” and make the hike back to the town car. Never mind that if she was being watched, whoever it was that swapped over the gun had already seen her dig up the damn thing. _“It’s too late anyway, Mija, all you can do now is pretend like nothing is out of the ordinary,”_ Hermione had told her like it was supposed to be comforting. It wasn’t. Especially when her mother called her back fifteen minutes later and demanded that Veronica “find out who did this” like it was so simple, like they weren’t dealing with an enemy that was also their only ally. 

Veronica had spent that ride home a hyperventilating nervous wreck. It was a good thing that Hermosa was pulling a late night at La Bonne Nuit or she would have been faced with a long list of questions about her hysterical state. She had practically sprinted to her bedroom, slammed the door and emptied her bag on the bed. In the end, she had to put on a glove to pick up the envelope. There was the forensic issue with fingerprints and there was also that part of her that was still just a child – a lost, overwrought child – that couldn’t stomach touching the slug that ended a life. Initially, beneath the mattress, between the bed base seemed like a sufficient hiding spot, but then she remembered how much Hermosa liked to poke about and realised how obvious it would be to someone like her sister. She spent a good five minutes after that rifling through her Louis Vuitton trunk that she specifically used to store her favourite books. The Carver book was too thin, the Plath one was too thick then there was the Cain novel. It was old and the papers were yellowing, which meant the copy was pliant enough for her to sneak the letter in between the pages without bending it all out of shape. Veronica shoved the book into her bedside table’s cabinet and never looked back. She raided Hermosa’s not so secret liquor stash that night; the scotch did little to quell her rampant mind.

Veronica walked around the next day like a zombie; just going through the motion – numb and unfeeling. If anyone later asked her what she did on that day, she would tell them that she woke up early, had her breakfast, did her makeup, went to school, came home then slept for the rest of that evening and into the next morning. This went on for the rest of the week.

She wasn’t feeling so crash hot today either. That probably had something to with how she mistook the ethanol for Potassium Iodide and nearly killed her whole class.

“Veronica!” Josie screeched at her and snatched the vial out of her hand, carefully setting it down on the rack, “What are you doing?! You heard what Mister Beaker said; one drop of that in the hydrogen and we’d be blown to bits!’

“I’m so sorry, Josie,” Veronica had meant to be earnest with her apology but it sounded vacant to her own ears, “I didn’t mean to do that.”

“You better not have!” Josie scolded as she poured the correct chemical component into the mixture and put a tick down on the chart, “What’s up with you today, V? You’re usually so on top of things and look at you today, you’re anywhere and everywhere! What’s going on?”

“I couldn’t get in a good night of sleep,” Veronica said flippantly, “You know how important beauty sleep can be to a gal.”

“Yeah, apparently it gets you in such a funk that you think alcohol and hydrogen is a good combo,” Josie snorted and slid over the lab report, “This doesn’t mean you’ll be too tired to come to the mall with moi and the Pussycat tonight though, right? We really need to get our outfits sorted for the town hall meeting.”

Veronica shot her a look that screamed ‘duh.’ “If there’s one thing I’m never too tired for, it’s shopping.”

“Good. My mom will lose it if we don’t have something to show her by Friday.”

Veronica clicked down on her pen and wrote down some descriptive words that will fool Beaker into thinking they were actually paying attention during class. She was hoping this could wait, but Josie did seem to be in a jubilant mood this morning. Apparently, Chuck Clayton was taking her out on a hot date tomorrow night.

“Hey Josie,” Veronica tread lightly, “I was wondering, how would you feel about a late addition for our shopping trip?”

Josie narrowed her eyes but didn’t flat out say ‘no.’

Veronica sighed and thought what the hell, she may as well cut to the chase. “I was thinking Betty could come along.”

“Why?” Josie asked reluctantly, dragging her word out, “I mean Betty’s fine – don’t get me wrong, she’s a very sweet girl, and I get that you guys are close. But it’s not like we’re friends or anything. We’re just on a different wave, you know? She’s all goody-goody and I’m goody until my mother looks the other way.”

“I feel you on that,” Veronica agreed, trying to appease, “But she’s due for a little makeover, don’t you think?”

Josie hummed, nodding her head as she returned Veronica’s knowing look. “Girl, you’re right. Those three quarter-sleeved jumpers need to go.”

“Totally.”

“Definitely,” the other girl chorused zealously, “Ok, yeah, Betty can come. Maybe she’ll be helpful – tell me to tone it down if the outfits are too risqué for the Riverdale’s prudes.”

Veronica’s smile was tight-lipped. “Sounds perfect.”

* * *

Betty was overjoyed to be invited on the shopping trip with Josie and the Pussycats.

The blonde had explained that Josie and Cheryl had some kind of a co-reigning queen bee treaty in place. And since Cheryl had an aversion to Betty, she had been shunned by Josie too. This piece of information would have been handy for Veronica to know before cajoling Josie into letting Betty come, because now she may have stepped into the crossfire. 

Veronica was beginning to understand why her mother needed Xanax and Pinot Gris to cope whenever she was due for a catch-up with the ladies who lunch.

“What about this, V? This is totally your style,” Betty said chirpily as she pulled something black with pearl detailing off the sales sections. 

It would be her style if she was a grandma.

Josie rolled her eyes at Betty’s selection, then held a sheer leopard-printed mesh top up to her petite top half. “What do you think, girls? Think this could work for Friday?”

Melody raised a brow and scoffed. “Yeah, good luck with getting that pass your mother.”

“I’m so sick of wearing those outdated costumes my mom picks out for us,” Josie huffed.

“And three layers of them,” Valerie added gruffly as she flicked through the rack aimlessly.

“I thought the sixties-inspired outfits that you guys had on at the last event were really cute!” Betty tried to flatter away the sombre cloud that was hovering over them but it only further roused Pussycats’ mood.

“Here,” Veronica acted quickly and shoved a fuzzy cheetah-printed miniskirt into Josie’s arms, “You girls should all wear this and pair it with a cute little black top of your own choosing. That way you can all show off your own personal style without compromising the brand. Mayor McCoy surely can’t oppose to some leg action, and if she does, you can just wear knee-high boots with them – they’re sexy, but not too risqué for the old maids in the audience.”

Melody brightened immediately, cooing, “Ooh, I love knee-high boots. I’ve got a pair of white go-go boots at home.”

“That’s a great idea, Veronica!” Josie beamed, already clicking her fingers at the sales lady, “Come on, Pussycats! Let’s go try them on in our sizes.”

Veronica held onto the smile on her face until the three girls disappeared behind the door of their changing rooms. She would rather set her Chanel on fire than let on to the girls that this trip of the mall was slowly morphing into her own version of hell.

“Josie _hates_ me,” Betty declared after a beat of silence, burying her face in her hands.

Boy, does she?

“That’s not true, B,” Veronica gushed as she crouched down beside the chair Betty was about to cry all over.

The blonde pouted her at Veronica, looking far from convinced.

Veronica sighed and conceded. “Ok fine, Josie’s not the biggest fan of you. But I think she’s only predisposed to greasing you off because of her alliance with Cheryl. There’s nothing you can do about that.”

“I know, I know,” Betty moaned, digging her buttercup yellow nails into the cushion, “It’s still not fair that the reason why Cheryl doesn’t like me isn’t even because of something I did!”

This was her opportunity to push for some answers and Veronica was prepared to push until Betty broke into tiny pieces all over the hideous carpeted floor of the store. 

Veronica seated herself down besides Betty and put a gentle arm around her shoulder, rubbing soothing circles on her upper arm. “Then why doesn’t Cheryl like you, B?”

Betty stared down at the ground solemnly, evading Veronica’s probing gaze much to her chagrin. “If I tell you, will you promise not to judge? My family’s one step closer to certifiable as each day goes by.”

Thank god, she’d been hoping that this would come up sooner rather later.

“Mine’s not exactly normal either,” Veronica smiled consolingly, aiming to pull at Betty’s heartstring with some relatability.

“Oh V, I completely forgot about your family’s situation, what with your dad’s trial and everything,” Betty frowned at the realisation, her voice dripping with pity as she took Veronica’s hand within hers, “I’m so sorry, you must think I’m so insensitive for going on and on about my stupid home life when you actually have real issues to deal with.”

 _That’s right you whiny bitch_ , Veronica thought scathingly but maintained her façade of the ever supporting friend. “No, no, you don’t need to apologize. What are friends for if we can’t vent to each other, right?”

“I guess you’re right,” Betty nodded apprehensively, still holding onto her hand with a vice-like grip, “My sister, Polly, was dating Jason before he disappeared.”

Veronica was in half the mind to sabotage Archie and Betty’s childhood love story because, well, she could, and ruining lives had always been her favourite way to channel stress and trauma. Also, she was getting sick of seeing them make lovey-dovey eyes at each other all through lunch. But telling Betty that Archie had already beaten her to the punch, would ruin the power that came with that knowledge.

Since there was nothing Veronica liked more than power, she chose to keep that surprise for a rainy day. “Wow, how is she coping with all this?” 

“I don’t know,” Betty muttered helplessly, “To be honest with you, Polly hasn’t had the best time dating Jason.”

“What do you mean, B?” Veronica patted her hand encouragingly.

“With my parents, with Cheryl, with the Blossoms….” Betty trailed off, ripping her hand away so she could gnaw at her thumb. She looked around the empty shop, a dark look of paranoia took over her angelic face as she turned to Veronica, “I can trust you, right? I know that we just met and we barely know each other, but it really feels like we were meant to be best friends.”

Veronica wasn’t a believer in destinies, in fact, she wasn’t a believer in anything, but for Betty, she would pretend.

“Like it was our destiny.”

“Yes, exactly like that!” Betty lit up like a firework on the fourth of July as she pulled her into a hug too tight for comfort, “I’m so glad you feel the same way, V.”

Veronica stopped herself from itching under her chin where the scratchy acrylic of Betty’s cardigan got her. “You can trust me, Betty,” she reassured as she stared deeply into her new best friend’s green orbs, “What is it?”

“Cheryl and I are cousins.”

Which meant Jason and Polly were also cousins. It couldn’t get any more small town than that.

“Their relationship, it’s wrong I know,” Betty rushed out hurriedly, “But none of us even knew we were related in any way until last year. It explains so much why our parents were so against them dating, and why there’s always been this weird tension between the Blossom’s and my family. And Cheryl and Jason, they...I don’t even know how to say this.”

 _There’s more?_ Veronica wanted to shriek in the face of this incest fest, but she needed to stay calm if she wanted Betty to spill all the ghastly details of their family secrets.

“They were _very_ close,” Betty said, the emphasis being on ‘very’, “Too close than any siblings should be.”

“Is that why Cheryl has a vendetta against you?” Veronica couldn’t believe they were even having this conversation, “Because she thought your sister was stealing Jason away from her?”

The blonde nodded slowly, a haunted look in her eyes that were usually so bright. “I still remember that fight between them; how Cheryl told Polly that she would never forgive her for turning Jason against her, and how she would never, _ever_ forgive Jason for choosing Polly over her.”

It was another day in Riverdale and another person who wanted Jason Blossom dead.

* * *

Once Veronica returned to the Pembrooke, she decided that one hundred and twenty hours was more than enough time to mope over a misplaced gun.

If she didn’t figure out what exactly it was that she was supposed to help “take care of,” she feared she’d end up with a permanent residency in this crazy town.

She got together some basic stationeries, a notebook that was identical to the ones she used for school and a generous mug of coffee spiked with a shot of vodka. She was no Nancy Drew but she was a genius at Cluedo, how hard could this be?

Veronica put on her glasses and scratched down the name ‘Minetta’ on the top of the page, all letters in caps. On the surface, it was a straight-forward story where Minetta was concerned. He finished the job, drove all night to get back to New York and collected his pay in full. There was no way he had the time to switch the pistol for the envelope, her mother saw to that herself since she made the trip with him. So, it was either that Minetta was working with someone in Riverdale or it was someone else entirely – someone else who wanted in on the bloodshed but didn’t want to do the clean-up work. 

Okay, so that was a ‘maybe’ for Minetta.

She flipped over to the next page and did the same thing with the Coopers. There were motives, that was apparent. Both parents were control freaks, and they had a pair of kissing cousins on their hands, for god’s sake. Not to mention that Polly was allegedly “upstate” at a creepy nunnery. If Polly was dead as they were speaking, no one in Riverdale would be none the wiser. It was possible that the Coopers had something to do with Jason’s death and Polly, who knew something, was threatening to run to the authorities with that information and forced her parents into committing the unspeakable.

That was a soft ‘maybe.’ They were parents, after all, surely, they loved their daughter enough to not go to that length to keep her mouth shut. Fortunately for Veronica, she had made great progress with Betty this afternoon. The bubbly blonde was so thrilled about their budding friendship that she had personally invited her over for a study session on Sunday afternoon. Truthfully, Veronica was wrapped when she found out that Betty and Cheryl were, in fact, related. She could ply the blonde for information while completely staying out of the Blossoms’ radar – it was perfect. Hopefully, that way she could find out some more information that would shed some light on the Coopers’ possible involvement.

Next up was the bombshell herself, Cheryl Blossom. Now that one would be metamorphic. Imagine if it was revealed that the daughter of one of the town’s founding families and the very own sister of the deceased, was involved in the killing – it would turn Riverdale on its head. Cheryl didn’t even really need a motive. The girl was erratic, had unresolved anger issues and was batshit crazy in general. Even if Veronica had to come up with motives for Cheryl, it wasn’t all that difficult. Cheryl, during her jealous rampage, killed both her brother and his lovely girlfriend. The Coopers found out and came up with the excuse that they had tire of Polly’s rebellious antics and decided it was best to send her to the Sisters of Quiet Mercy for some hard disciplining – No, that couldn’t be it. Why would the Coopers lie to protect Cheryl? Their families couldn’t’ stand one another despite their blood relation. Okay, how about this? Cheryl was possibly in an incest relationship with her brother, and if Betty knew she wondered who else did. Maybe someone was threatening to expose the taboo nature of their romance, Cheryl momentarily lost her cool during the confrontation and wound up an accidental murderer. Hence, why she was now blackmailing Veronica and her family into a murder swap.

Still, Veronica remembered how Josie would have to excuse herself from class to go to the bathroom so she could comfort the inconsolable Cheryl who was crying over her MIA brother every other third period. It was undeniable that Cheryl loved Jason, she loved him so much that Veronica doubted that she could go through with killing him.

Again, it was a very soft ‘maybe’ for Cheryl.

If only Veronica’s parents would tell her why it was vital that they axed off a high schooler. It would certainly help narrow down the suspect pool.

Veronica stared down at her handy work, tipping the ballpoint pen back and forth between her fingers as she took a long sip of caffeine. She decided to focus on Minetta for now. For all her mother’s insistent that it couldn’t be him, Veronica couldn’t shake her suspicion for him. He was the only one on the list she knew for sure was capable of killing, and that was more than enough of a reason for her to take a closer look at him. She ruled out anyone under age as a suspected accomplice. Minetta was a trained assassin. He wasn’t going to hit up an amateur high schooler to help him commit a double murder. Then Veronica was reminded of her conversation with Jughead as well as the one she had over lunch break with Archie, Kevin, and Betty – the Southside.

Veronica quickly scribbled that down on a fresh page.

That was where all the shady shit took place, that could easily include a murder. It was also the safest bet for Minetta to work with someone he knew the Lodge’s daughter would never come in contact with. The chances of her crossing over the track just because, was slim to none, and he probably knew that too. It also wasn’t out of the question that some sketchy figures had caught wind of her parents’ plot to assassinate Jason Blossom and used that information to blackmail Minetta into an unconventional form of transaction, such as the opportunity to make a murder case go away.

At this point, the Southside was worth looking into. The issue was that she couldn’t very well just show up on that side of town without any legitimate reason. It would only attract suspicion, then she could really forget getting any useful information out of any of the locals. She needed a good excuse to be there, something convincing but not too outlandish that it would raise eyebrows.

It was then that Veronica knew just what she needed to do and who she needed to get it done. 

Later that night when Hermosa got home, Veronica asked if she could take the Friday night shift.

* * *

Pop’s Chock’lit Shoppe was the place to be on a Friday night. Teenagers dropped by for late-night rendezvous and after school hangs. Families came through for a quick and easy take-out option. The workers down the road almost always stopped by for a beer or two before driving back home to their wives and kids. And anything in between breezed through after half-past ten for a good gin-soaked time down at the speakeasy underneath.

That was precisely why Veronica did her best to avoid working Fridays. It was a sure bet that at least a group of her high school peers would walk through at any given moment and she couldn’t stand the humiliation of being their server for the night. If this wasn’t so urgent, she would have waited for the gravitational force to do its thing and drag Jughead in here by the middle of next week. The other evidence, the one that was not meant to be her responsibility, was going to show up any day now, and she’d rather get one problem out the way before the second one arose.

Veronica didn’t know for sure that Jughead would swing by. She thought that since Friday was the busiest night at the diner, this was her best chance of catching him. Jughead had been here twice ever since her first shift where he ended up mopping the floor. He went for take-away’s both times and said ‘hi’ both times too, but not a word outside of that. It was still better than what they had going on at school. She tried to wave at him from across the assembly hall last week and he mistakenly thought he was subtle when he turned the other way, pretending to not have seen her. Veronica, being who she was, couldn’t stand to be ignored so she tried again two days later when she walked by him in the canteen, but she got the same non-existent response. Jughead only appraised her with a weird look that told her he acknowledged her, but he didn’t want her to do the same. She contemplated giving him the cold shoulder when he walked through the diner later that evening, but then he came in with a boy that stunk of Southside and they looked they were both ready to raise hell. So, when he offered her a dim smile with the same old ‘hi,’ Veronica thought she’d give him a break.

It had been a while since Veronica last felt unsure of herself, but it was now ten to nine and there was still no sign of Jughead anywhere. 

A few minutes later, the bell jingled alerting them of a new customer and Veronica felt her chest expand with hope. Then just as quickly as the anticipation came to her, it left when she was confronted by the sight of Betty and Archie at the doorway. They were standing side by side, so close to one another that their fingers were brushing and their knees were bumping. Veronica hated how they looked together sometimes – it was perfection, like two pieces of the puzzle fitting together and anything that stood in between them was out of place. She felt sorry for her other-self; the boyfriend stealing version of her that would have felt like a fucking god for taking Archie away from Betty, and foolishly missed the part where she was just a placeholder until the boy-next-door was ready for his girl-next-door.

Archie was the first out of the pair to spot her. He was smiling at something Betty had just said, and then it flat-lined when he saw Veronica.

“Ronnie…” the red-headed boy said her name like he was addled, “You work here?”

“What gave it away? The uniform?” Veronica teased gently as she sauntered towards them with the confidence that wasn’t fit for a waitress at a run-down diner, and handed Archie two sets of the menus, “Would you like to hear about tonight’s specials?”

Betty was all bug-eyed. “V, is this a joke?”

“Afraid not,” Veronica replied crisply, “I’m assuming you two want to eat in tonight?”

“Seriously, V, what is going on? Why are you working at Pop’s?” Betty asked, her voice reaching a new pitch, “And how come I’m just finding out about this now?”

“Betty, Archie,” Veronica addressed them both and turned on the charms, “I didn’t tell you guys because I felt a little embarrassed taking on this gig. But frankly, it’s going to look great on my college resume – you know how the reps love to see a menial part-time job thrown in the mix.”

Betty nodded, tentative but accepting. “I guess you’ve got a point. That’s the whole reason my mom pushed me into helping out at the paper.”

Archie, who looked more on board with that idea, gave her his signature boyish grin. “Well, I think it’s a great idea, Ronnie! This place could do with more staff anyway.”

“Exactly what my sister said when she gave me the job,” Veronica said smoothly, adding some spring to her steps as she took the two of them to an empty booth in the back corner, “There you go. I’ll give you two some time to work out what you want.”

“Look, V, don’t get me wrong. I’m fully supportive of you working here,” Betty started, her eyes zig-zagging around the joint anxiously, “But I think it would be better if Dilton was the one to take down our order, bring out our food and all that jazz. I’d feel bad making you serve us.”

Veronica felt a twinge of irrational anger run through her. Deep down, she knew that Betty was trying to be a good friend and help her save face, but the ugly, nagging insecurity at the back of her callous brain was making her see things a bit different. Did Betty actually think she was so fucking fragile that a couple of hot plates were going to tear her dignity to shreds? She tramped all over Fifth Avenue like it was her bitch, dishing out junk food was a cakewalk in comparison. Then as the air of superiority began to dissipate, Veronica saw the way Archie was watching her, like she was a siren who was calling to him. Betty, meanwhile, was looking to him to break out from her spell. It became evident that her blonde friend was threatened by her looming presence and its effect on her crush. As that realisation set in, all became right in the world again. 

“Great idea, Bettykins. I’ll send Dilton right over.”

Veronica smiled, her lips stretching like a stiff rubber band as she turned on her feet and began to march towards the kitchen. A family of three got up to leave their booth and paused to bid her ‘goodbye,’ completely unaware that they were blocking her path. She usually didn’t have the patience for these so-called social cues but she remembered how handsomely the Smiths always tipped, so she was all chipper as she waved back at their five-year-old boy who liked to tell anyone who would listen to him that he was nine. Once they cleared out of the diner, Veronica was left stump by the sight of Jughead, readily seated on one of the red-leather stools. He had his brick-like laptop propped up on the countertop and was typing away furiously like he was behind on a deadline.

Veronica caught him looking up for a split second, his blue eyes meeting her onyx ones. As she approached and he pulled his head down, she had a feeling he would never admit to playing hide and seek.

She cleared her throat dramatically as she slid behind the counter. “So, what is this project that you’re always working on?”

Jughead raised a brow, urging her to be more specific.

“This,” she hooked a finger over the top of his laptop screen, tapping the black frame with her freshly coated nail, “I always see you around school with your head buried in this piece of machinery that’s probably got AOL chat on it.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t cease his typing. “I’m writing,” he swallowed audibly, his Adam’s apple bobbing, “Something.”

“How eloquent of you,” Veronica quipped, fidgeting with the cash register, “If I had to make an educated guess, I would say that ‘something’ is the next great American novel, or at least it’s trying to be anyway.”

Something sparked within him then; his inky pupils took over the indigo twin pools and his folded hands so rigid that she bet it would make a few bone-cracking noises if he was to flex them. It sent a thrill up her spine to see him like this; catching Jughead Jones off guard was quickly becoming her new favourite way to pass time.

He pushed down the screen off his laptop and put it aside. “What makes you say that?”

“Since we’re both for fair trades. How about this?” Veronica smirked as she leaned over so they were at eye level. She placed both elbows on the wood of the countertop and pulled out the regular notepad and a pen, pretending to be on her waitress duty, “I’ll tell you how I know –“

“But you don’t,” Jughead cut in abruptly, licking his lips, “You can’t possibly know because I have yet confirm or deny your assumption.”

She squinted at him, her smile sharp as she tipped her head to the side. “We both know that my assumption was correct. You wouldn’t even be entertaining this if I was wrong.”

“Alright, go on,” he bit out stubbornly, folding his arms over his chest and edging back in his seat.

Veronica smiled smugly. “I’ll tell you how I came to that conclusion if you tell me why you refused to acknowledge me when we’re at school.”

He pressed her with a pointed look. “You know why.”

“I don’t actually, that would be why I’m asking,” she said as a matter-of-factly, pretending to write down nonsense in place of a real order, “Anyway, since I’m sure you’re just dying to know, I happen to know about your obsession with the great American novels because of how much you love to bring up how the literary icons of the past failed to create what you believe to be the “perfect” all-American novel.”

“When?”

“In English class – over and over again,” it was Veronica’s turn to roll her eyes, “We get it, Gatsby romanticized the downfall of the American dream and failed to report on the gritty impact on all level of social hierarchies as caused by the collapse of the Jazz Age.”

He was intrigued, the curve of his smile told her so. “Do you disagree?”

“There is something to be said about the beauties uncovered amongst the wreckage, yes,” she said, firm on her stance as she swivelled around to grab the pot of black coffee, pouring the steaming liquid up into the mug before placing it in front of the boy, “Now that I’ve dissected you like you probably do Phillip Roth’s writing in your free time. I think it’s about time you tell me why you don’t say a word to me in the school halls but you’re perfectly fine to have an intellectually-stimulating conversation with me when we’re at Pop’s.”

His mouth fell open, an objection on his tongue, but he knew as well as she did that it was futile. “Let’s get real, Lodge, you’re the incoming Miss Popular and I’m the Southside outsider that no one wants around. We’re opposing types and they’re not supposed to intersect.”

“Why not?”

Jughead scoffed and echoed his sentiment from before. “You know why.”

Veronica pursed her cherry-red lips into a thin line, drumming her fingers against the lacquered surface as she leaned her hipbone against the counter. “I’m not one to play by the rules.”

He took a languid sip of his coffee and dared her to refute him. “You’re one pom-pom away from homecoming queen, and you know it.”

 _I was guaranteed homecoming queen back where I came from_ , Veronica thought sourly, her acrylics digging so deep into the wood that she thought she might have left a dent. It seemed like a distant dream now; she was going to let cubic zirconia touch her teased hair for the price of being crowned prom queen. She was supposed to be the queen of the world, and now she was standing here, feeding townies burgers and onion rings for seven dollars apiece.

That’s when it flew out of her mouth – exact and purposeful. “I need your help.”

“You? Needing _my_ help with something?” Jughead coughed out a ludicrous laugh, sweeping the stray locks of hair back with his calloused fingers, “This should be good.”

“I happen to need a car,” she informed him candidly, “And you happen to work at a garage.”

“Not all garage sells motor vehicles.”

“Yours does.”

Midge recently started up a relationship with an undisclosed boy from Southside after kicking Moose to the curb for being a flaky asshole, and her new favourite thing to complain about is her man’s obsession with fast cars. Veronica was willing to bet that it came from the same garage. She doubted there was room for two of anything on that side of town.

“Come on, Jones, don’t you want new business?” Veronica urged, all easy charm and sweet temptation, “You know I’m good for it.”

“That’s not the issue,” he mumbled under his breath, toying with a packet of equal she knew he didn’t take with his coffee, “Mantle’s dad owns a respectable car sales business. You’re better off taking your money there.”

“I’m not looking for what they’re selling,” she said impatiently, “I want vintage, and I want imported.”

“And you think the Southside has that?” Jughead asked, his eyes landing on hers.

Veronica shrugged nonchalantly. “I have a hunch that Southside has a great many things it shouldn’t have.”

He hardened at this remark, his fingers unnaturally tight around the handle of the mug. He knew he didn’t have a way out of this, he had exhausted all excuses possible. Unless he wanted her to think questionable things were happening with the garage, he was going to have to cave. Veronica hoped he was smart enough to bend to her will.

“Does Saturday afternoon work for you?” Jughead asked, his voice a touch raspy as he raised the cup to his lips.

“Sure,” she smiled exultingly, “I just have to be back before the town hall meeting.”

“You’ll make it back,” he said with quickness and Veronica couldn’t tell if that statement carried double the meaning, “I’ll pick you up from the Pembrooke at one.”

Veronica tilted her head to the side, the smile on her face sharpening. “What did I tell you about stalking, Jones?”

“The term observant will do. Your sister is the tenant after all,” He replied steadily, while he stared down on the menu as if he didn’t know its content like the back of his hand, “Also, the last I checked this is a diner, where people come to grab a bite to eat,” he offered his unsolicited smart ass comment, “I don’t think you’ve even asked me what I wanted. Feel free to correct me if I’m wrong though.”

“Because you’ve been in such a rush to put in an order,” Veronica snipped but her gaze was coy, “But yes, of course, what can I get you tonight?”

Jughead played deaf to her previous remark and said, “Two burgers. A side of chilli fries and a chocolate shake.”

“A small order for you,” Veronica teased as she wrote it down, “Sure, you don’t want anything else?”

“You can stop trying to squeeze me dry, Lodge,” he replied drolly, “And about what you said before – Roth’s work, it’s redundant and unnecessary crude.”

“He has a classic on his hands,” Veronica countered bluntly before prancing off to the other end of the counter so she could top off a customer’s coffee.

“He doesn’t” She heard Jughead say as she strode past him to put in the new orders.

Veronica had her back to him as she gave a terse response, “Sabbath’s Theatre is clever and wildly funny.”

“If being crude for no reason is your idea of funny, then maybe.”

“Then maybe,” she echoed sharply, whirling around to face him, “I like crude. It sends a strong message, no bullshit.”

His lips stayed seal after that, but his stare said everything that needed to be said. Jughead was looking at her like he heard something in those words that Veronica didn’t intend to reveal about herself. She felt the sort of vulnerability her parents had tried to beat out of her; she didn’t want it to return.

“I’ll see you Saturday, Jones.”

Veronica made her way down to the booth across from the one occupied by Archie and Betty. She had on a plastic smile as she listed off the beer offerings to a couple of truckers. They only asked so they could ogle at her tanned legs for a minute more, she knew this and she knew they weren’t the only one. Archie had his eyes on her, and before that, they were on Jughead.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After this week's episode, I suddenly have hope for Riverdale. That Barchie kiss was the best thing to happen since S1. 
> 
> Anyway, this update is extra long and Jeronica-packed. Enjoy! As always, thank you for all the kudos and comments you guys take the time to leave me with every update x

Making good on his promise, Jughead showed up at the Pembrooke at one that Saturday afternoon – not a minute earlier and not a minute later.

Veronica watched him from behind the velvet curtains of her bedroom window. She had put on her ponte pants in anticipation of the Harley Davidson, but practical dressing wasn’t going to make a difference today it seemed. Jughead had come to pick her up in a truck that was probably just a few years shy of being the same age as his bike. She dabbed some extra concealer over her dark circles, snatched her purse off the vanity table and took a deep breath to mentally prepare herself for the afternoon. By the time she made it down the elevator and out the building, she was already running five minutes later than the agreed time.

He must have seen her coming through the wing mirror and popped the door open on her side.

“You’re late,” Jughead proclaimed before she could even land both feet in the vehicle.

She rolled her eyes and waved him off. “Being fashionably late doesn’t count as actual tardiness, Jones.”

“Does to me,” he mumbled gruffly while Veronica wondered absentmindedly if she should sanitise the seats.

“Who are you? The time police?”

Veronica was barely buckled in when Jughead abruptly pulled off the side of the curb. She had to grab onto the dusty cup holder to keep her face from knocking into his shoulder. Last she checked, Riverdale wasn’t known for its plastic surgeons and she had a near-perfect nose that didn’t need fixing.

“I’m driving _you_ to get _your_ car. As far as I’m concerned, you owe it to me to be on time,” Jughead said grumpily and made a sharp right.

Veronica suspected he was tethering the very fine line of fifty kilometres per hour, but not wanting to sour his mood any further, she made no comment about basic road rules.

“Can we roll down the windows?” she asked in mild agitation as she wiggled out of her pea coat, “Why does it smell like –“

“Cheap beer and cigarettes?” Jughead finished her string of complaint off for her and did actually wind them down, “This used to be my dad’s car, so that sounds about right. I would have taken the bike but Mustang insisted that I take the old man’s car in case you decide you want the car towed back to yours today.”

“Oh,” was stupidly enough, the only thing she could muster up. She knew it was still too early to exchange daddy issues so she tucked a windblown curl away from her face and casually asked, “What’s got you in such a mood anyway?”

“Other than the fact that you’re late?” He asked, glowering, “Look, I’m trying to make this easy on everyone. We get you over to the garage, you pick out an overpriced automobile, cough up the money for it, then we hightail back to the Northside. You don’t need to overstay your welcome on that side of town.”

Veronica’s eyebrows shot so far up that she thought they may have made it to her hairline. Jughead must have seen this from his peripheral because he rightfully felt the need to offer a more rounded explanation.

“The locals aren’t exactly the most welcoming bunch, especially not to Northsiders,” he told her as if it was the most natural thing in the world, like the sun rising and setting, “Consider yourself warned.”

Veronica couldn’t help but expel a tiny laugh at his admonition. “Why do I get the feeling that you’re trying to spook me, Jones?”

He signed and reached over to prod at the stereo. “I’d rather have you spooked than careless. Although if something was to happen to you, the town’s police might actually be forced to do some real work.”

“How morbid of you,” she said shrewdly as she folded the coat over her lap, “Oh, of course, you listen to Alice in Chains. What’s next on the playlist? Pearl Jam?”

“I won’t even knock you for that comment since I’m so impressed that you even know who they are,” Jughead narrowed his eyes, switching to steering with one hand as he stuck one hand out the window to feel the cool breeze, “I’m surprised you know anything outside of Lady Gaga and Rihanna.”

“You’re such a snob!” she shrieked in disbelief.

“That’s rich coming from you.”

Veronica huffed, feeling irrationally irked by the low standard Jughead had set for her. Realistically, she knew she had nothing to proof to him. She was richer, better educated, carried the family name that was basically historic to the New York-Spanish community and she was leagues ahead in popularity. She had everything most people wished for and more. The only issue was that she suspected that Jughead Jones didn’t care about any of that, and that in itself riled her.

“Materialistically speaking, yes, I admit that I am a snob,” Veronica said boastfully, tipping her chin up and probably looking very much like a puffed-up peacock, “But I don’t turn my nose up at pop music like it hasn’t shaped the current state of our culture. And just so we’re clear, my music consumption extends pass the scope of bubble gum pop. I happen to enjoy old Jazz, and I dabble in Guns and Roses when I’m in a funk.”

“Name one of their songs, and ‘Sweet Child ‘O Mine’ doesn’t count,” Jughead challenged.

“Don’t Cry, Just Another Saturday, November Rain.”

Veronica wanted to drive the heel of her Manolo’s through her head for even indulging in this child’s play yet here she was, listing the out the deep cuts like she was on a national quiz show.

“So, you’re a sentimentalist,” he surmised with such ease that it made her blanch, “That’s unexpected.”

There couldn’t be a better time for them to pull into the Southside. The sign that was barely holding onto its hinges told her that they were now entering the other side of the Riverdale coin, it also told her with its shitty attempt to paint over the graffiti that they didn’t have pep and they didn’t want it either. The road was surrounded by weeds and shrivelled wildflowers that looked like it had not been trimmed down for years. Any concrete she could see were lined with potholes and weird cracks that didn’t look like they were caused by mother nature. There were barely lit oil drums spread out everywhere but not one warm body was in sight. The fog came over them in a thick, smothering layer. Veronica could smell smoke and rain in the air and it brought her back to the day they met.

“You know, Lodge, if there’s one thing I can say about you,” Jughead drawled, slowing down considerably around the bend, “It’s that you sure know how to exceed expectations.”

She wanted to tell him; “ _never underestimate a Lodge”_ then she remembered that her parents saved that line for when they were about to eliminate an enemy. Veronica didn’t consider Jughead her enemy, she didn’t think so anyway.

“Think you can do good with what we discussed, Princess?” Jughead asked monotonously as he began to turn into what she assumed was their final destination, “Let’s make this as quick as possible, so we can get you back to your castle.”

Veronica rolled her eyes but nodded her assent anyway. She wasn’t one to get easily scared but this place was giving her some serious Cronenberg vibe. The garage was old; so old that all she could see was rusting metals, dirty windows, and car parts and gears that looked like they haven’t been touched in years. As Jughead reversed into the empty spot under the shelter, Veronica was seriously starting to wonder how she was supposed to find a rare vintage automobile here or even a functional car at this point. She was going to give Midge an earful for the false advertisement.

Jughead, who must have sensed her extreme discomfort, switched off the engine and turned to her. “It looks better on the inside. Also, you might want to take your coat with you. It gets pretty chilli in there."

“I’m starting to think you’re taking me into a torture chamber or something,” she joked sheepishly before hopping out of the truck.

Veronica could hear Jughead snort from the other side of the garage after the door slammed shut. He strode over to the janky steel panels that doubled as the wall and banged his fist on it twice, causing the whole thing to quake noisily. She didn’t notice before that he wasn’t dressed in his usual boxy tee and jeans combo and instead, he had on a full set of workwear. She could still the rounded collar of his t-shirt peeking through the slate green of his uniform. The getup made him look much older somehow. Caught up in her reverie, Veronica couldn’t help but jump a little when she heard the awful screech of the metal scraping as the garage door began to pull up little by little.

Jughead was right, it did look a lot better on the inside. The space was jarringly white, so much so that it reminded her of the hospital hallways. There were cars everywhere she looked, lined up against the walls in every shade and model you could imagine. It wasn’t as swanky as the dealerships in New York, but it was a sizable collection that would interest most serious collectors of vintage mobiles. She squinted against the unflattering fluorescent lighting as she entered this new portion of the garage.

“Is this her?” A rugged-looking man hollered and threw a clipboard down on the small desk he was sitting behind.

“Yeah,” Jughead called out his response, then sneaked a glance back at her, “Veronica Lodge. Meet Mustang.”

Veronica bit back a laugh as she inched closer to Jughead and asked, “That’s not actually his real name, is it?”

“No,” Jughead whispered back, “But that’s what he goes by to all the customers, so just go with it.”

“Hiya, sweetheart,” Mustang greeted vibrantly as he swung his legs off the desk and started walking towards them, “I heard you were looking for an old-timer’s car. We’ve got everything and anything you can name. So just name something and I’ll name the price.”

“Hi. For this to work, I’ll have to ask you not to call me sweetheart. It’s Veronica or Miss Lodge, take your pick,” Veronica sassed and it was immediately followed by a groan from Jughead. She ignored this and fired on, “Another thing, you can name the price but it better be fair or I’m going to check you for it. How does that sound?”

Mustang licked his lips like a hyena. “And how would a little girl like you know what a fair price is for these babies.”

“Because, Mustang,” his name rolled off her tongue daringly as she folded both arms over her chest, “My daddy owns three garages full of these babies back in the big apple, and he’s taught me a few things about paying the price.” 

She heard Jughead snicker from behind her. It sounded like music to her ears.

The man rubbed his sideburns, the sleazy grin he was sporting from before was absent. “I can do that.”

“Great to hear,” she nodded curtly, “Now, I’m looking for something black and something fast.”

* * *

Veronica chose a 1970 Chevelle she had no interest in driving. It was a man’s ride, something Hiram Lodge would love to add to his own private collection. No one would suspect that it was her in the driver seat. It was perfect; they’d never know that she was watching from behind those tinted windows.

She was briefly tempted by a lilac Cadillac that sat a few rows down from the Chevelle, but as delicious as the image of her riding in the front seat with her shades on and her hair wrapped in a silk Hermes scarf, she knew it wasn’t a practical ride to tail someone with. She thought about getting a Honda civic; she’d seen at least five of them driving up and down the streets of Riverdale. That way she’d blend right in with the rest of the suburban peasantry that polluted this town like nasty flu. Then she thought about being caught out in that moving heap of metal and knew right away that she couldn’t very well drive that thing. The whole town would think it odd that a walking, talking bag of cash decided she wanted to spend her trust fund money on a vehicle popularized by soccer moms. She would have to drive something flashy and expensive, but not a complete show pony that she can’t creep around in the night time with it.

“Alright,” Mustang sighed as he stretched out his back, “I need a minute or two alone in the office to get some forms for you to sign. While I’m at it, I’ll be taking a look over your paper works to make sure they’re all in order. Not that I don’t trust you, Miss Lodge,” he added quickly, his tone careful to not offend, “But we’re running an honest business here, so we gotta make sure that every move we make is legally abiding.”

“Of course,” Veronica nodded understandingly, although she had to wonder just how honest Mustang’s business really was.

“Feel free to have a look around the warehouse,” Mustang offered lazily, his back already halfway turned to her, “If you’ve had enough of the cars, you can go and hang out with the Jones kid outside. He’s always bumming around the junkyard.”

Deciding that some fresh air would do her some good, Veronica made her way outside. She ducked under the garage door that was halfway off the chalky concrete floor and saw him right away. Jughead was, just as Mustang told her, bumming around the junkyard on the other side of the road. He was leaning against the chained-link fence that ran so tall that it was only inches away from the telephone lines. He had both hands stuffed in the pocket of his oil-stained pants, and earphones in both ears. Veronica found it puzzling that Jughead didn’t seem to fit in anywhere. On the Northside, he was like a spot of grey in the clear blue sky, and to the Southside, he was a drop of rain on a dark and sticky summer night. She wondered if that was what she was to the people of Riverdale – an anomaly.

Veronica was about to go over to him when she saw him fish out a scratched-up Zippo from his shirt pocket and a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. She watched, stuck in a trance as he leaned into the flame, the nicotine that hung from his lips catching on fire. 

“Property of Forsythe Pendleton the second,” Veronica finished crossing the road just in time to catch a glimpse of the engraving on the lighter, “Is everyone in this sixties warped town numbered? Or is that just you?”

She saw him flinch at the sound of her voice, and while she was a fan of self-flattery, she doubted it was the effect of her presence that had him all skittish. He plucked the cigarette out of his mouth and made the move to throw it out, but Veronica put up a hand, silently telling him that she didn’t care. He took another puff but turned away from her like a kid who had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Veronica didn’t know what was more surprising’; the fact that Jughead Jones was a smoker or that he was ashamed of it.

“Me and my dad,” he replied briskly to her question, “He’s second. I’m third.”

Jughead’s laconic response suggested that he didn’t want to discuss the name thing any further and she was more than happy to let it stay that way, but apparently, he was feeling talkative.

“This,” he mumbled as he pulled away from the cloud of smoke, “My dad too. Funny how I get all my bad habits from him when we barely say a word to each other.”

This made Veronica think of her own dad, and how alike they were even if she didn’t think she truly knew him. She didn’t even think she understood Hiram, didn’t know what made him tick or knew why he did the things he did. All she knew was that she loved daddy a little too much for her own good.

“Is that how you ended up in a gang?” Veronica found herself asking without meaning to.

Jughead took two more puffs of his cigarette before giving it a flick. “That’s a stupid rumour.”

“Doesn’t sound stupid to me,” Veronica knew she was one hairbreadth away from crossing the line, but she was so far in that she didn’t know how to stop now, “I thought it was your family legacy.”

He kicked a random bottle cap and sent it flying down the long line of rubbles. “I don’t care if it’s a family legacy. The gang war ruined my dad’s life and tore my family apart. You can’t join a movement you abhor.”

“So, you haven’t strayed off the righteous path,” she mocked with a small smirk.

Jughead shook his head ruefully and scoffed. “Who are you kidding, Princess? People like us can’t stray off that path, we were never on it in the first place.”

“How would you know?” Veronica told herself to stay calm, stay cool as a fucking cucumber but her fists were already clenched.

“There’s no need to get testy with me, Lodge. I’m just making a casual observation about your family’s entanglement with the crime syndicate,” He gave her a side-long glance, clarity in his eyes as he took a drag of nicotine, “I’m just calling a spade a spade. You don’t seem like the type to mince words.”

He had rendered her speechless; she didn’t like that. Not at all.

“You’re the first person to broach that subject with me,” Veronica told him frankly, her gaze shifting around distractedly, “I know people talk, but that’s usually reserved for when I’m not around.”

Jughead shrugged. “Like you said you know we all know. There’s no point in pretending that I don’t.”

She nodded empathetically and studied her ankle boots like it was special. “Is that why you avoid Archie and all your old friends at school? Because you know what they say behind your back, and you don’t care to pretend that you don’t know what they think of you?”

He gave her a measured look. Then he straightened and closed in on her, his cigarette laid forgotten amongst the gravel as he spoke, “That’s a perceptive read on the situation, Lodge. I’ll give you that.”

“Am I right?” Veronica asked playfully, her knees shaking from the cold or something else she dared not think about.

“Watch where you’re going with this, Veronica,” his words were stark and they felt like being grazed by a switchblade, “It’s getting a bit too personal.”

She wondered if that was wrong – to get personal, to want to know more than she should, to feel so far removed from everything that this strange boy in front of her was the closest thing she had to connecting with something _, anything._ Veronica’s jaw went slack, but she couldn’t find the words. She was afraid that she never would if he was going to insist on staring at her like he could reach in between her rib cage and yank her heart out. 

Then a boisterous whistle echoed all around them and the delicacy of that moment broke before either of them could think to preserve it.

“Oi, Jones! Bring Miss Lodge back to my office. She’s got papers to sign and I got a living to make.”

He walked off first, leaving her behind and Veronica told herself not to take it so personally.

* * *

Mustang’s office wasn’t anything showy like the warehouse. It had the same drab, dusty and claustrophobic undertone as the rest of the decaying garage he had used to mislead unknowing passers-by. There were sky-high piles of papers stacked all across the rusty desk he had jammed up against the wall. The floor was littered with empty paper cups and milk cartons. There was a trash can situated in the corner of the room and Veronica shuddered just thinking about what living thing crawled in and out of there on the daily. He really could do with a secretary, a cleaner and a filing system because as far as she could see, there was nothing operational about this place.

Veronica couldn’t see one other chair beside the one Mustang was lounging so she took to standing by the windowpane for a spot of sunlight.

“Everything looks alright to me,” Mustang drawled lazily as he handed her back all the copies of basic identifications she had brought with her, “I only take payment in cash. There’s an ATM down the road, you just gotta make the right turn at the Whyte Wyrm –“

Veronica unzipped her purse and dumped its content on the only empty spot on Mustang’s desk. “Here’s all of it, plus five thousand.”

As it usually goes, money talks and Mustang definitely spoke its language. The man nearly leapt out of his chair when the stacks of cash tumbled out of her bag, some of it literally falling into his lap. He had on the facial expression of a man who wasn’t sure if he had won a lottery or walked right into a trap.

“Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble,” Veronica reassured without anything prompting.

Mustang swallowed and nodded woodenly. “W – What’s the extra for then?”

“Is the door locked?” she asked, pleased to see that it was when the man nodded in response, “Good. I wouldn’t want Jones walking in on this little chat we’re having. This stays between us, is that understood?”

Mustang nodded again, but barely this time. It was good enough for Veronica, she knew the money would keep his mouth shut in the end. 

“I need a couple of untraceable plates with the car. No questions asked,” she added quickly before he could even get a word out, “Can you do that? Yes or no?”

Mustang’s gaze went back and forth between her and the pile of money. He looked her dead in the eyes as he picked up one stack and tentatively flicked through the bills, almost as if he couldn’t believe there was this much money laid across before her. It didn’t take more than a minute for him to make up his mind.

“Yeah,” he relaxed in his chair and sucked on the inside of his cheek, “I can do that.”

“Great,” Veronica said curtly, “I don’t want Jughead knowing about the plates. Put them in a paper bag and store them in the glove box.”

“Alright, whatever you say, boss lady,” Mustang agreed with a ghost of a snicker as he began to round up the cash, “You still want the car waxed, windows tinted and delivered to yours by Sunday?”

She nodded an affirmative ‘yes’ and seized hold of a bundle of hundreds before he could sweep it into his desk drawer.

“And since you run such an honest business, I bet all your employees make a fair commission off their sales,” Veronica knew she was taking a piss out of him now, but it felt too good being a conniving bitch to a cheat and a scam like him, “I think Jughead deserves his cut, don’t you think? After all, he did make this happen.”

“Oh yeah?” the man licked his teeth, and clasped his hands behind his head, “And what are you going to do about it if the Jones boy don’t get his commission? I don’t offer refunds.”

She coughed out a condescending laugh, because really, how silly was this man?

“I think the Riverdale authorities might be interested to hear of the favours you do for clients who are willing to put in extra,” Veronica said smugly, “Then it’s going to be your word against mine, I know, but I’m willing to take that gamble. I have a feeling that I’ve got a good chance at coming out on top with this one.”

Mustang narrowed his eyes; she was sure that he was boiling over with rage on the inside. “Fine, have it your way.”

Veronica smiled down at the man primly. “It was nice doing business with you.”

It wasn’t, but it was nice whenever a deal went her way.

* * *

Outside, the air had gotten even colder if that was possible. She was shaking in her coats when she exited Mustang’s office and re-entered the garage. They could really do with some heating, but then again, they didn’t even have the money to maintain basic cleanliness so she guessed she shouldn’t be getting ahead of herself.

There was no sign of Jughead. There was, however, an old radio laying on the concrete. It was blasting Isley Brothers through all the white noises it was emitting. It made the whole garage feel even more haunted than it did before. _And to think he was the one rushing to get back to the Northside,_ Veronica thought drolly as she hastily buttoned up her coat and looked around the grey emptiness that was the Southside. She was about to give up waiting and march back into Mustang’s office for some assistance when she heard a metallic clang, and Jughead slid out from under the broken-down Toyota Camry.

“Oh,” she blinked at his materializing form, “I thought you might have decided to ditch me in the cold for asking too many questions before.”

“I can take it,” Jughead nodded at the grimy cloth that hung off the toolbox, “You mind handing me that? Or are you too precious to get your hands dirty?”

 _If only he knew_ , Veronica thought as she rolled her eyes and threw the cloth at him. The raven-haired boy caught it with ease and wiped the tar off his hands with it before crouching over to switch off Bing Crosby. 

“Did you decide to stick with the Chevelle?” he asked vacantly as he inspected his handy work on the car, “It doesn’t really seem like the type of car you’d be interested in.”

Veronica shrugged. “Just goes to show that you don’t know anything about what I’m interested in. Doesn’t it?”

Jughead ignored her completely, and she felt like stamping her feet like a child who didn’t get her way when he threw in the towel, literally and metaphorically.

“Let’s get back on the road before it gets dark,” he said dismissively.

Veronica sulked quietly as she followed him to where the truck stayed parked from when they first got here. She threw the door open, climbed into the rough leather seating of the vehicle and sat in railing silence. She didn’t know what she was protesting exactly; all she knew that he had refused to give her anything to be combative over. Which meant she was supposed to stay quiet, like a good, little girl while Jughead takes her home. She wasn’t a good girl, and that sounded like the most mind-numbing drive in the world. Jughead mumbled a question to her, asking if she wanted him to crank up the heating – it was polite, even nice. He was nice sometimes, Veronica thought even if she’d never admit it to him.

“They’re wrong about you,” Veronica found herself saying aloud five-minutes into the drive, “There’s more to you than being a misfit from the Southside, or the son of a gang member. I just thought someone should tell you that.”

He didn’t say anything for a long time, a whiney, punk song stretched by for what felt like an eternity when he finally said something, “And you think that someone should be you?”

“Why not?” she countered simply, turning away from the gloomy view so she could peer at him, “I am a fellow outsider, after all.”

Jughead snorted. “I don’t think you qualify as an outsider, Lodge.”

“While I do acknowledge that I am not your typical outsider, I’d argue that I do make for one in Riverdale.”

“No, you don’t,” he said as if it was the undeniable fact of life, “You can’t be. You’re popular, and rich, and beautiful, and you’ve got the football team panting after you like a pack of lovesick bulldogs.”

Veronica blinked, unable to fight the smile that was blossoming on her face. “You think I’m beautiful?”

He glared at her from the driver seat but relented against her raised brow. “You know you are, Lodge. You didn’t need me to tell you that.”

“True, that doesn’t mean I don’t like hearing it,” she beamed with pride, “But my point stands, none of those elements disqualify me from being an outsider. In fact, the real definition of being an outsider is when an individual does not belong to a certain group or organisation.”

“I can’t imagine you feeling like don’t belong somewhere, Lodge,” Jughead countered, “You strut up and down the school halls like you run it.”

“Faking it ‘til you make it is a learned craft, you know,” Veronica quipped lightly, “I’m not from Riverdale, check. I don’t have the small-town mentality of staying here until the day I die that most people from here seem to share, check My dad is about to be a convicted felon, check. What the hell is ‘pep’ anyway?, check. That’s just a short-list, I could go on, but I think we might have to drive all the way to New York and back for me to finish the complete list.”

Jughead laughed, a throaty sound rumbling from deep inside his chest that warmed her. He stuffed a hand into the pocket of his bomber jacket and managed to latch onto a cigarette. Veronica watched in amusement as he switched hand on the steering wheel to wrestle with his lighter, muttering inexplicable under his breath as the flame fluttered on and off.

“Gimme that,” Veronica snapped irritably as she snatched the Zippo out of his grasp and lit a steady flame for him. 

He arched his brow at her but mumbled a small ‘thanks’ as he bent his head to catch the light she was shielding with her hand. In some ways, she was pissed off that he hadn’t even bothered to ask if she was fine with him lighting up in the car, and in other ways, she felt a twinge of gratification that he was comfortable enough to smoke around her. Judging from how secretive Jughead was about his habit, she doubted many people knew about it.

“I’ll put your outsider cred under review. How does that sound to you?” he jested and she saw an inkling of a smile behind all that smoke.

Veronica inclined forward and switch the radio station without his permission. “What an honour to be considered by you.”

“Since you’re apparently so big on sharing,” Jughead began sarcastically as he took a turn down a foreign street Veronica didn’t recall on their way over, “Why not a cheerleader?”

“Ok, seriously, what is it with you and cheers?” Veronica huffed, “Why is it that gets you going? The image of me in a mini skirt?”

He made a small whining noise in exasperation. “I read that student profile Kevin did on you,” he explained, sounding a touch awkward, “You’re supposed to be what? A two-time state champion? Isn’t that something worth pursuing?”

She burrowed even further into her seat and wound her coat tighter around her body. “Just because I’m good at something, it doesn’t mean I should have to keep at it for the rest of my life.”

“No, but why not thrive at something you’re already great at?” he asked rhetorically, “I see how you watch the Vixens whenever they duct into the gym for practice. You don’t really have the look of someone who wants to hang up their poms-poms.”

Veronica recoiled in disbelief. “Do you spend all your time just creepily watching people? That doesn’t add to your resident outsider status, just saying. That’s just plain weird.”

“I am a weirdo if you haven’t noticed,” he retorted blandly, “But nice try side-tracking me with an insult.”

Veronica heaved a heavy sigh, the type that made your whole body sag and ruined the posture weekly ballroom lessons were supposed to fix.

“Why am I even having a heart-to-heart with you anyway?” she bit out, all brittle and surly, “You went all Tony Montana on me for asking why you and Archie are no longer bros for life.”

“Look, Lodge,” Jughead wrestled with his words as he took a short inhale of his cigarette then ashed the residue off the edge of the windowsill, “Even if I wanted to share, it’s not just my story to tell. It’s obvious to everyone with a set of eyes that Archie has a thing for you, as he usually does for shiny new things,” he jabbed at her ego right where it hurt, “What happens if I tell you my side of things and that makes you rule out Archie as a potential boy toy? I know him, he’s going to try and white knight the situation like I’m some big, bad serpent who’s trying to stop him from getting the girl.”

There it was; the name that had the Riverdale High’s student body in a buzz whenever Jughead paced the corridors.

“Too late then, because I’ve already ruled out Archie. So yeah,” she looked him squarely in the eyes and smiled waggishly, “No white knighting necessary.”

“Right,” Jughead sounded far from convinced, “Because of Betty?”

“Not entirely,” Veronica answered honestly, “But yes, that does have something to do with it.”

He shot her a suspect look. “You’re not trying to tell me that you guys are really friends, are you?”

“What’s so unbelievable about that?”

“The fact that you two couldn’t be more different. For as long as I’ve known Betty, she’s been cotton candy and sugarplum, and you’re…”

Jughead trailed off and that made Veronica even more curious about his analysis of the dissimilarities between the sweet girl next door and the wicked bitch from the big city.

“What?” she challenged, “Maleficent but without the horns and a healthier complexion?”

“No,” he gave her a pointed look and took another drag of his cigarette before turning back to the deserted road ahead of them, “You’re more like crimson and clover.”

“Huh. I’ve never heard that one before,” Veronica muttered contemplatively, “I like that.”

Veronica did. She liked that a lot. She might have even given him props for his ways with words if the truck didn’t come to a screeching halt and a chorus of thunderous whooping interrupted the eerie silence that had been haunting the Southside ever since she’d stepped foot in it. They were in the middle of god knows where, alone with just the two of them on an empty road and she highly doubted there was a police station within walking distance. This felt like a scene that came straight out of a B-grade horror flick.

“Um, do you want to tell me what the hell is happening?” Veronica wasn’t sure if that was a screech or a command, or both that just exited her mouth.

“Just sit still,” Jughead droned, sounding almost bored as he ingested the last of his cigarette and flicked it out the window without a single worry in the world. 

She was about to scream at him to ‘do something’ when a reverberating bang came from her side of the vehicle. Whatever it was should have given her a heads-up, because not only did the booming noise made her jump out of her seat and onto Jughead’s, it also nearly gave her a heart attack. 

“Would you quit it?!”

Veronica heard a female voice request in the midst of all the chortling her and her accomplices were doing.

“I know it’s you - Toni, Sweetpea,” Jughead bellowed out to who exactly, she didn’t know, as he adjusted his rear-view mirror, “You can stop hiding.”

“Oh come on, Jones! You’re no fun!”

A girl sneaked up on Jughead’s window, slapping a heavy hand on the door as she whooped one final time in his face. She was all doe-eyed, mermaid hair and button nose. In other words, she was gorgeous, so she couldn’t be Jughead’s girlfriend. Not that Jones was ugly or close to it, in fact, he might even be considered cute if a broody, grunge reject was your kind of thing.

“He’s never any fun. I don’t know why we bother with him,” came another voice, but this time it was closing in on her.

“I’m on the job,” Jughead told the girl plainly, his face never betraying any sign of surprise.

“A job?” A boy, so tall that it looked ridiculous when he had to crouch down to fit his head through the window on her side, “Do you always call a pretty number like this one a job? I think that’s pretty rude. Don’t you think so too, doll?”

Veronica felt her stomach churned when the brown-haired boy winked at her. Yuck.

“I don’t want to hear you call me ‘doll’ ever again,” she snapped, backing as far away as physically possible from the window, “And Jughead was referring to the act of driving me. That’s included in his pay for the evening.”

“Sure, that’s what’s happening here,” The boy wagged his eyebrows suggestively, making Veronica groan.

“Please, excuse him, his mind is always in the gutter,” the girl offered good-naturedly, shooting the other boy a glare so he would put a pin in it before turning to Veronica with a friendly smile, “Sorry if we scared you before, we thought it was just Jones in the car. We pull pranks on each other like this all the time. I’m Toni, by the way.”

“And I’m Sweetpea,” the boy supplemented and Veronica wished she could ignore him.

“Alright, enough with introductions,” Jughead muttered darkly and made the move to put the truck back into ignition.

“Um, there’s no need to rush,” Veronica coaxed as she reached over to cover his hand that was already turning the key, “I’m Veronica. How come I’ve never seen you around before?”

Toni shared an uneasy with Jughead that she couldn’t quite place. Then as if the other girl completely missed Veronica’s question, she gathered herself and asked brightly, “So…how do you two know each other?”

That didn’t answer Veronica’s question one bit. Still, she was up for the pretence if they were.

“We go to school together,” Veronica replied with enough vigour to match Toni’s, “Actually, Jughead here just helped me secure my first car.”

“Well, that’s always exciting,” Sweetpea chimed in, “Think you could let me take a ride in it sometimes? You can drive unless you want me to.”

“No, thank you,” Veronica retorted tersely, not even sparing him a glance as she kept her sight set on Toni, “You know, at Mustang’s garage?”

“The one and only,” Toni said sing-song-like as she pulled away from the truck. She sauntered over to Veronica’s side and much to her delight, yanked Sweetpea up by his collar. The pink-haired girl then bent down Veronica’s height to share a smile, although neither of theirs reached the eyes. “It was nice to meet you, Veronica. Congrats on the new ride.”

“Thanks, Toni,” Veronica said smoothly, “It was nice to meet you too.”

As Veronica watched the pink-haired girl and her brawny male companion disappear down the damp, winding road, she realized Toni never assured her that they would see one another again. That was all she needed to know. Jughead didn’t say anything either – didn’t even bother to wave them goodbye. He just kept his head down and focused on starting up the engine again.

“Friends?” Veronica dared to ask once they were back on the road. She, however, didn’t dare to ask if they were the real deal - the serpents.

Jughead licked his lips, his grip tight on the wheel. “I don’t have friends.”

“Sure, you do,” she said, putting on a sugary voice, “We’re friends.”

They hit the speed bump so hard that it nearly threw her out of her seat. Veronica gasped in dismay and swept the tumbling locks of hair out of her face.

“You said you knew how to drive. That didn’t seem like you knew.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled, sneaking a restrained glance at Veronica as she sat back up in her seat, “You kind of caught me off guard there, Lodge.”

She pulled a powder puff out of her purse and thanked God she didn’t try to touch up before. “Because I said that we’re friends? What’s so earth-shattering about that?”

“We’re not friends?” Jughead suggested although he sounded like he wasn’t sure where he stood with that notion.

“Now, you’re just hurting my feelings, Forsythe,” she dragged his name out teasingly, “Sure, we’re friends. You made me open up about cheerleading and I made you open up about your non-existent street cred. That definitely counts as our first d and m’s.”

Jughead stared at her blankly, prompting her to give a crash course on modern teen lingos.

“Deep and meaningful,” Veronica supplemented with the roll of her eyes, “How do you not know that? I know you’re supposed to be edgy and all that, but you’re still a high school kid,” she applied a light coat of her cherry gloss and snapped her compact shut before pressing him even further, “What? Is my company lacking?”

Their brief field trip to the flipside had shown her just how valuable Jughead’s friendship would be to her. She was kidding herself if she thought she’d make it past the train tracks in one piece without him. People over on this side didn’t like anyone who wasn’t living out of a trailer, that much was clear. She was living in a penthouse, so they probably had prayer circles for the likes of her to get hit by a bus.

“I never said that,” Jughead said evasively as he turned on the windshield wiper to clear away the layer of condensation that was clouding up the equally cloudy view of the journey ahead of them, “You are surprisingly well-versed in everything pop culture, and admittedly, humorous at times. But,” he cleared his throat and suddenly his face was hard as stone, “That doesn’t change the fact that we are worlds apart.”

“Yet here I am, sitting in your father’s pick-up truck that may as well be prehistoric with that sound it keeps making,” Veronica commented mordaciously, “Getting driven back to the safety of the sunny side of Riverdale by you after a day trip to the dark side while I’m forced to listen to your cry baby music.”

Jughead tried to bite back a smile but failed to hide from her. “How do you expect us to be friends if you’re going to keep insulting my music?”

“Constructive feedback is key to self-improvement, Torombolo.”

He scoffed a laugh. “Is it still constructive feedback if I tell you that you look ridiculous in your fifty starlet’s get-ups?”

Veronica frowned as she toyed with the rounded collar of her blouse. “I’ll consider it, but I would argue that you don’t know anything about the classics.”

“You can like the classics, but still dress like a normal person,” Jughead said as he gave her a pointed look, “I enjoy the occasional film noir, but you don’t see me going around looking like Bogart.”

She batted her eyelashes at him exaggeratively. “No, you just act like his understudy by loitering around the hallways with your notebook and invisible magnifying glass.”

“Haha, very funny,” Jughead took a wide left turn and landed them on the liberally lit street of the Northside, “It’s for my novel. I don’t just watch people for fun.”

“Oh, I’m sure. I bet Capote would be proud – the resemblance between you two is uncanny.”

He scowled. “If you’re questioning my manhood, I can tell you now that I’m not gay.”

“That’s not what I was referring to. Simmer down, Jones, your heteronormativity is showing,” she snipped, squinting against the blinding streetlight that was leading them closer and closer to townhall, “I was simply trying to make the juxtaposition between your small-town upbringings, outcast status, and the likelihood that you’re writing about Jason Blossom’s disappearance in the style of ‘In Cold Blood’ – and oh, and you both look kind of peculiar – no offence.”

“Tell me the truth, are you clairvoyant?” Jughead joked, “Because that would be an unfair advantage.”

Veronica shrugged, but in her nonchalance, there was also smugness. “Small town and true crime – that’s very all-American if you ask me.”

They succumbed to a spot of cosy silence. Veronica thought that was about enough buttering for the day. She could tell that he had taken more of a liking to her than he probably ever thought he would in this lifetime. She let the Pixies song drone on until it reached its final note, incidentally, that was also when the car began to slow. Jughead had parked in a secluded spot across from town hall, there was an old tree that hung above the truck like a protective shroud. She couldn’t know for sure if it was intentional, but if he was trying to stay a secret, he may just manage it this way. She was about to say the usual pleasantries when she was distracted by two sets of middle-agers who were sharing a few aggressive words outside town hall. They shared an uncanny resemblance with –

“Of course, the Coopers and the Blossoms are at it again,” Jughead said, confirming her suspicion that they were indeed Betty and Cheryl’s parents.

“What do they even have to argue about?” Veronica baited.

He rubbed a hand over his chin. Then dismissively, “You should get going. Mayor McCoy loves to single out late attendees.”

 _So he knows something too_ , Veronica thought, _but what though?_ It was futile to try and get it out of him now. Jughead was turning out to be more work than expected, she knew he wasn’t ready or willing to share Riverdale’s deep dark secrets with her just yet – they’ll get there, she’ll make sure of it.

“It’s not Mayor McCoy’s wrath I’m worried about, it’s her daughter’s,” Veronica said playfully as she unbuckled her seat belt and pushed the door open. She threw her legs out the edge but left them dangling there, as she swivelled around to get one last look at him for the night, “But seriously, Jones, do consider my offer of friendship. I think you might find that we have more in common than you thought.”

Veronica hopped out and willed herself not to look back as he sped off into the night.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back with another chapter! A lot more plot building and a healthy dose of Jughead/Veronica as per usual. 
> 
> As always, thank you so, SO much for all the support and feedback. I really do appreciate the time you guys take to write me a comment, give me kudos and basically read this fic in general. Hope you enjoy this chapter x
> 
> NOTE: I don't think Riverdale has ever made mentions of Cheryl and Jason's great grandfather actual name. Same goes for Betty and Polly's so for the purpose of this story, I made up some posh names to go with the Blossom's 'wealthy medieval family' aesthetic.

If there was one thing Veronica appreciated about her new life in Riverdale, it was that she had a place all to herself. Don’t get her wrong, she loved the penthouse she shared with her parents on the Upper Eastside. It was slick and stylish, and you could always rely on a nutritious meal to be served at any given time. And because it was so well-catered too, you should always expect guests. Veronica grew up with strangers popping in and out of her home like it was their own. They always introduced themselves, and they may return once or twice, but it was more likely than not that she’d never see them again and they became just another face she couldn’t put a name to. In the spirit of preserving her good mood this morning, Veronica stopped herself from wondering if her father had anything to do with those faces going missing.

She dawdled into the living room and headed straight for the small kitchen area so she could put on the kettle. She wasn’t big on routines when she was a New Yorker; it was hustle and bustle all the time that it just wasn’t feasible. Now, without fail, she made herself a cup of coffee and eggs on toast every morning. She yawned against the pitter-patter of her slippers as she crossed the room. Then she pulled the blinds open so she could soak in some sunlight and revel in the tranquillity of being by her lonesome.

The kettle was shrieking at her to come and get it when there came a knock at her door.

Veronica inwardly groaned as she marched over to the entryway and yanked the door open.

“Good morning,” the devil incarnate greeted.

She wasn’t surprised to see that it was Hermosa, she just hoped that it wasn’t. So far, she’d successfully avoided her half-sister for the majority of her stay at the Pembrooke, except for that one time when they had a run-in at Pop’s during a late-night shift. It wasn’t difficult to do when they lived on different floors and Hermosa liked to stay cooped up in her office at the nightclub. That worked for Veronica; she preferred the distance.

“Hermosa,” Veronica was far from friendly as she stepped aside and let her pass, “It’s nine on a Sunday morning. I can’t imagine you have any reason to visit me this early in the day.

“Nine is hardly early, Veronica,” Hermosa waved her off, her snake-like gaze darting around the place like she was expecting for things to be in disarray, “Anyway,” the woman smoothed over her pencil skirt before taking a seat on the couch, “I thought I’d bring you your first paycheque.”

Veronica screwed up her eyes. “What paycheque? The last I heard I was doing free labour so I could keep a roof over my head.”

The brunette’s smile was prim as she reached for her Prada and unclasped it. “You racked up quite the tip. The customers must like you.”

Hermosa threw an envelope stuffed full of dollar bills onto the coffee table. Veronica felt physically ill just from looking at it. The sight of a crisp manila envelope with such a close resemblance to the one found under the Maplewood tree was bringing up memories she wished were pieces of her nightmare.

“Your tip – you made it, you keep it.”

Veronica glanced over at her sister silent disbelief. The woman might not have a heart of gold but she was fair at least.

“Thanks,” she mumbled in an almost daze as she swiped the envelope off the table and took a quick peek inside.

There was enough in there to rival her own estimate of what she would have made in tips over the last two weeks. It was just like what Hermosa said, Veronica had raked up more in tip money than any average waitress ever should. Once word got around that the Manhattan elite was serving up cherry pies and custard cream biscuits, people from every nook and cranny of Riverdale started pouring into the diner like they were giving away free dinner. It was like the freak show and she was the main attraction. She couldn’t even take an order without hearing whispers of theories on why she had picked up a casual job. The least they could do was tip her handsomely for all the wildlife observation they were doing.

Veronica decided against counting it. She knew she should be thankful that she was getting anything at all.

“You know, Veronica,” Hermosa started, her glacial voice slicing through the frigid silence that had devoured the room, “I don’t presume to know why Hiram and Hermione decided to send you here. Although I can’t imagine that you were thrilled to give up your cushiony life in New York for a lacklustre final year in high school. That doesn’t exactly scream teenage dreams to me, but what would I know?” The short-haired woman spread her arms out on the back of the couch, her elbows elegantly resting on the back as she motioned abstrusely at everything and anything, “I grew up here, probably will live here until my dying days.”

Veronica rolled her eyes at all the melodrama and strode over to the kitchen, standing on her tiptoe as she fetched a mug from the top cabinet. “Do you want some coffee? I get the feeling you’re going to overstay your welcome.” 

“No, thank you. I already had my fill of the day,” Hermosa turned her down politely, “You should get yourself some though. I think you might be interested in what I have to say next.”

  
Veronica narrowed her eyes as she poured the boiling water into soluble coffee and grabbed a fresh carton of milk out of the fridge. “I did put the kettle on for a reason.”

Hermosa sunk into the cushions, her arms folded and her bony elbows crossed. “You see, I did some snooping on my own, and at first I thought – I’m impressed with Veronica. Flawless grades, a commendable list of charity work, and well-received by both society and page six. Then I came across an interesting article on Nick St. Clair.”

Veronica’s hand convulsed at the mention of his name, resulting in too much skim milk in her drink. She gently placed her palm down on the kitchen counter and picked up the teaspoon with her other hand. She fumbled with the silver but eventually got into the rhythm of stirring. Now if only she could do the same with her heartbeat.

“He was found passed out on the floor of his own garage by the butler,” Hermosa continued and Veronica couldn’t thank her lucky stars enough that she had her back to her sister, “Apparently, he partied too hard to remember to turn off the engine of his Porsche and left it running as he blacked out next to it,” the woman shrugged, “Eh, nothing off about that – live fast, die young, kids are reckless like that. The whole thing read like a cautionary tale for underage boozing until I saw the police report which detailed that the car’s front window had been smashed to smithereens. So it’s either, Nick had a little bit too much to drink and decided to drive home anyway. Intoxicated, he rammed into a pole, a post box, some fences, who knows? Or maybe,” Hermosa’s grin was like a sharpened blade as she sat forward, her eyes were gleaming surreptitiously, “Maybe – and personally, I prefer this theory much better – someone wanted Nick to be in a world of pain? First, they thought they would break his favourite toy and that would be enough, but it wasn’t. So they took it that step further and decided, wouldn’t it be nicer if Nick just dropped dead? What do you think about that?”

Veronica wanted to hurl all over the sink, but instead, she held down the sickness festering inside of her and said, “I think that you’re deranged and so is this conversation.”

She could see Hermosa’s condescending smirk even with her eyes clenched shut.

“But aren’t you worried that someone might have it out for poor Nicky? After all, you guys are old friends, and he was your escort to Cotillion.”

Veronica’s legs felt like jelly as she spun around to face her demon. “Why should I be? It was a freak accident. I doubt anyone would be so unlucky that that would happen to them twice in this lifetime.”

Hermosa quirked a perfectly pencilled brow. “I’m taking it from your firm stance that you don’t suspect foul play?”

“Can’t say I do,” Veronica replied casually before taking the first sip of her coffee, “I don’t usually spend my time thinking about things that don’t concern me. You should try it, it might help clear that addled mind of yours.”

“Alright, Veronica,” Hermosa half-heartedly conceded as she rose from her spot, “I just find it coincidental how you showed up to town right on the tails of the investigation closing on Nick’s case.”

She burned the roof of her mouth with the scalding hot coffee and didn’t even flinch. “Weirder things have happened."

“Well, you know what they say,” Hermosa paused at the door to flash her a severe smile, “Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.”

* * *

The Coopers, to simply put it, was the American fucking dream. She could practically smell the apple pie just from standing in their front yard. Betty burst through the red door to greet her. She was looking very much like an angel without the halo; she was covered in the white mohair of her rollneck sweater which she decided to pair with a rose petal tennis skirt. She looked like a goddamn Gap ad and so did the rest of her family. Mother dearest had her goldie locks bundled up in rollers and father dearest was sitting with one leg crossed over his knee, the morning paper propped up in his lap as he sipped leisurely at the Americano that was quickly going cold. The house was something that came straight out of a page from ‘Better Homes and Gardens’ magazine – there was a built-in fireplace, a set of beige couches and matching set of armchairs surrounding it, and knitted blankets and throws were strewn across them in a way that Veronica suspected was elaborate. The large dining table was centred in the middle of the room and covered in a daisy printed table cloth. A bowl of untouched fruits laid next to a couple of unlit candlesticks. It was the perfect setting; her mother would have been impressed. There was not one picture of Polly in the house as far as Veronica could see. Wherever she looked, all she found were picture frames with Betty in it or Betty and her two parents. It was as if they had erased all traces of their other daughter from their home and as such, their lives. 

Mister Cooper, she would call him by such formality despite his insistence that she ran with the more casual ‘Hal’, looked up from his crossword with an easy smile, and waved them into their dining room. Hal, as Veronica quickly realised, was not much for chatters. Although his position as the head of the house was unequivocal; he had the presence of a man who was in full control. Miss Cooper, or the infamous Alice Cooper, as Kevin liked to announce in what he considered his voice of doom, was of a different sort from her husband. She was all quickfire and rapid questions. She twitched once when Veronica confirmed that she was indeed, the daughter of Hiram and Hermione Lodge. She twitched again when Veronica mentioned how famously Betty and her were getting along. 

Alice Cooper offered her a plate of triple-decker pancakes readily topped with maple syrup.

“Ice cream, honey?” Alice Cooper blinked at her like some creation that came straight out of Stepford’s wife. She didn’t bother to look her own daughter in the face instead, she eyed her stockings-covered thighs.

Veronica politely declined after bloody crescent moon-shaped wounds were beginning to show on Betty’s quivering palm. _Ah, weight issues,_ she thought to herself with some nostalgic elation – it was just like home. She could tell that Betty was anxious about introductions so she allowed her blonde friend to run through it in a sloppy haste. A short but concise “ _mum, dad – Veronica. Veronica – mum, dad_ ” and they were up, up and away to the staircase, and then to Betty’s room.

Betty’s room was like if you ate too many cupcake and fairy breads and projectile vomited all over the walls. Veronica felt out of place amongst all the pastels and twinkle lights. Then again, she always felt out of place whenever she was next to Betty.

“Sorry about my mum,” Betty let out a heavy breather as she shut the door behind them. The blonde was already looking stress and they haven’t even hit the books yet, “She can get nosy like that sometimes.”

“Like all mothers tend to be,” Veronica replied breezily and zeroed in on a polaroid of Archie and Betty pinned to the corkboard.

The picture must have been taken from a couple of years ago, they both looked younger – Betty’s hair was much longer and Archie looked significantly scrawnier than he did now as the Bulldog’s football star. Archie was grinning ear to ear and Betty was blushing a pretty shade of pink in his arms as their cheeks stayed pressed together. There were a few other polaroids of them from over the years, and each of every one of them only reminded her of how deep their connection ran – how unbreakable they were and how much she wanted to be the one to break them.

She wondered if she should come straight out with it and ask Betty how long she’s been in love with Archie for.

“Should we start with the French war or do you think we should start with calculus so we could get that out of the way?” Betty asked as grappled with a stack of textbooks on her desk.

“Oh, we studied French war last year at my old school,” Veronica waved her off dismissively, “Let me know if you want some notes though.”

“Seriously, V? You should have told me!” Betty effused and sat down on the bed, patting the empty spot across from her, “I did all my short notes last night for nothing since I thought we could compare them today. Please don’t tell me you’ve already worked through this week’s assigned questions for calculus too.”

“Not to worry, Bettykins,” Veronica plopped down on the mattress and pulled out her notebook and a set of pens, “I always put off anything mathematic.”

Veronica stupidly interpreted Betty’s invitation to “come over for a study session” as an invitation for her to come over and do typical girl things, like gossip, primp or talk shit about Ethel’s outfit from Friday. Unfortunately for her, she was slow on the news that when Betty said they would study, she actually meant it. The blonde was giving her none of the dirt and more of “what did you get for question three-c?” while she switched from a blue pen to a red one to mark the wrong answers. Veronica has yet to see Betty put any red on the paper.

“Hey, B, I’ve been meaning to ask,” Veronica began, not bothering to ease into it, “How come you were a no show at the town hall yesterday?”

Betty gently placed down her pencil on the folded page of her ‘Senior Calculus Practice Workbook.’ “It’s my mum. She made me stay home and study.”

“But it’s the weekend?”

“I know,” Betty sighed, running a clammy palm over her porcelain face, “That’s what I told her but she said if I want to keep my GPA up and go to a good college, I can’t afford to slack – not even on a Saturday night apparently…”

“Betty, that’s not ok,” Veronica chided, probably sounding much like Alice herself, “You’re seventeen. You should be allowed to let your hair down and let loose.”

Betty nodded woodenly and latched onto her thumb, her nail chipping away at the hideous canary yellow nail polish.

“You know what we should do?” Veronica prompted gleefully; she was always jumping at the chance to ditch her school work, “We should give you a makeover! I swear I’ve never seen your hair out of a ponytail.”

“But what about calculus?” Betty asked, sounding horrified at the thought of not getting homework done.

“We’ll just finish it off at lunch on Monday. Come on,” Veronica coaxed as she grabbed onto Betty’s hand and dragged her over to her vanity table. She smirked deviously at the blonde’s prim and proper reflection in the mirror as she hooked one finger under Betty’s baby blue scrunchie and pulled it down, setting her silky blonde tresses free.

“See,” Veronica cooed, and fluffed up the roots before reaching for the stiff boar bristle brush and ran it through Betty’s smooth curls, “You look so much prettier with your hair down.”

“T – thanks, V,” Betty stuttered sweetly as a faint blush coloured her pale complexion.

“You’re such a classic beauty, Betty,” Veronica said and actually meant it, “Do you have some lipstick? I think a darker colour would really ‘pop’ on you.”

“Yeah,” the blonde said and pulled out the right drawer, revealing a whole collection of lip products, “It’s not that I don’t trust you, V. But I look dreadful in anything bold.”

“Relax, it’s just makeup. If it looks ‘dreadful’ like you said,” Veronica rolled her eyes as she uncapped the lipstick, “We can wipe it off. Easy.”

Betty nodded hesitantly as Veronica turned her around and tipped her head back for easier access. “I guess there’s no harm in giving it a try.”

“Exactly," Veronica grinned like a Cheshire cat as she carefully painted Betty’s cupid bow crimson. 

She had the diabolical urge to smear the whole tube everywhere until Betty’s doll-like face was covered in a layer of blood-red. It wasn’t that Veronica hated Betty, she might even come to like Betty if she wasn’t so goddamn precious. Sure, her mum was slightly kooky, but whose isn’t? At least she cared enough to smother her. Hermione couldn’t even tell you what her daughter was up to on most days.

“There,” Veronica declared, snapping out of her sombre fantasy, “Picture perfect.”

Veronica wished she was lying. Betty did look perfect – just like Grace Kelly before she crashed down the hill. The blonde herself must have also thought so because she was completely struck by her own reflection in the mirror. She watched, somewhat impressed by her work, and somewhat creeped out by just how dazzled Betty seemed to be by her current appearance. It was like the girl had never seen herself done up before.

The two of them were broken out of their trance when the door to Betty’s room fell open and Alice Cooper walked in with a tray of orange juice and vanilla slices. She gasped audibly at her daughter’s transformation and Veronica was about to take some credit, when the woman unceremoniously discarded the tray on Betty’s queen size bed and charged at Veronica, slapping the Maybelline out of her grasp.

“Ow,” Veronica exclaimed irritably, glaring at the older Cooper woman as she rubbed her wrist.

“Elizabeth, what did I tell you about that lipstick?” Alice stomped over to Betty’s dressing table and rifled through the sea of cosmetics for a tube of baby pink gloss, “That shade of red makes you look like a cheap whore. Don’t you remember what we talked about? It’s light pink only and – “

“Fuchsia for special occasions,” Betty recited robotically as she blotted the crimson off with the back of her hand, “I remember mum.”

“Good,” Alice nodded, her demeanour going from crazed to completely serene, “Now, you girls should have some juice then get back to studying.”

“Ok mum,” Betty said, her voice dead and her eyes even deader as she stood up and shifted over to the bed.

“And Elizabeth,” Alice called out to her daughter, pausing by the threshold of the bedroom, “One vanilla slice, ok?”

Betty nodded numbly as the door swung shut. She gingerly picked up the plate of dessert and nibbled the corner of it like a small critter would.

Okay fine, she takes it back. Betty’s mum was a full-on nut job.

“Um B,” Veronica moved over to the bed and sat down beside Betty, who was looking traumatised and used to it, “Is your mother usually this unhinged? Or is that just the after effect of feuding with the Blossoms?”

Betty blinked between sips of her orange juice. “What feud?”

“Oh, you haven’t heard?” Veronica cooed patronizingly as she reached for Betty’s tightly curled fist, “Your parents and the blossoms were having it out before the meeting last night.

“Wh – what about?”

Veronica shrugged apathetically and went back to solving that equation she had been pretending to work on ever since their study session commenced. “I didn’t catch the details. A bunch of us caught them outside, exchanging a few heated words. And wow, did your mum look pissed.”

“Kevin said he was with you the whole night!” The blonde shrieked in an explosive meltdown that even Veronica couldn’t have seen coming, “Why didn’t he tell me my parents were acting like a couple of lunatics in front of the whole town?”

“Calm down,” Veronica soothed with a gentle touch to the shoulder, “Kev probably didn’t think it was worth mentioning because he knew it would only freak you out.”

“Maybe. But I still wished he could have told me,” Betty frowned, clutching onto the stretched armhole of her sweater, “He knows how much I abhor my parents for even considering publishing the latest on Jason’s disappearance. They were probably arguing about that, _again._ Not that I blame the Blossoms, they have every right to be angry.”

“What are you talking about?” Veronica asked, stumped, “I thought the police have been looking for him and haven’t found anything.”

Betty’s wide eyes bounced off her pastel walls nervously. “Yeah, that’s what the authorities are telling people,” she confided in a hushed voice, “My parents got a tip from someone in forensic and they said they found a shoelace they think came off Jason’s shoes on the day he went missing. His blood was found all over it.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means the case is about to get treated as a homicide,” Betty raked her brittle nails through her freshly combed hair, “My parents want to leak the story early because they think the Blossoms had something to do with their son going missing.”

“But why?” Veronica asked, stupefied by this new development.

“My mum,” and that should have been enough of an explanation really, “She went over to Thornhill to ask Penelope Blossom about hers and Clifford’s statements to the police. Apparently, some of the details they gave contradict Cheryl’s and that’s why my mum is so convinced that the whole family did something to make Jason disappear.”

Veronica felt herself unravelling underneath the carefully crafted façade of austerity, which was news to her because she had thought it to be permanent after decades of practice.

“It’s ridiculous, right?” Betty asked, turning to her for some reassurance, “There’s no way the Blossoms would kill their son.”

Veronica shook off the chilling sensation of her bones rattling and lied through her pearly whites. “No, of course not. What reason would they have?”

She was afraid that they may just have plenty.

* * *

Veronica knew she should be using her time wisely, but she was quickly losing hope. Could you blame her? Between the homicide, the crazy housewife, and the calculus, she didn’t even know where to begin. So instead, she ordered take-out and procrastinated on her couch.

She couldn't remember the last time she lazed around and did nothing for an afternoon. But when there was nothing to be done, the answer was always pizza.

She had left the Cooper’s on an awkward note, but she thought that only she may have felt the tension. Alice acted as if she hadn’t whacked her daughter’s friend for playing dress-up and Betty acted as if her mum didn’t try to destroy them for wearing red lipstick. The dad was none the wiser and was on the phone about golf when Veronica dashed out the door. She was beginning to see how it was so easy for them to pretend their other daughter didn’t exist.

Veronica was about to go through her fourth slice of pepperoni when the intercom rang. She wiped the grease off her hand with the serviette as she moseyed over to pick it up.

She jabbed at the monitor with her index finger. “Yes, hello?”

“Yes, Miss Lodge,” the reception lady’s buoyance managed to ring through the mic despite how distorted the sound may be, “A Mister Jughead Jones is asking for you. He says he’s here to make a delivery.”

“Yes, please buzz him up. Thank you, Gina.”

“You’re very welcome, Miss Veronica.”

 _So goddamn chipper,_ Veronica muttered under her breath in chagrin as she grabbed the television remote off the couch and pressed mute on the sound. There was a knock on the door just in time for her to finish zipping up her skirt. Miraculously enough, the food baby she had accumulated within the last hour of binge eating wasn’t bulging out of the top she was wearing. She was over at the door a few moments later, looking pristine and put together as ever. 

“Evening”

Jughead greeted with a pinched smile, both hands behind his back as he shuffled awkwardly on the one foot he was putting all his weight on. His hair was a clumpy mass of windswept mess and a curl or two were hanging limply over his forehead. He was more rugged up than usual in his baggy grey knit sweater that had too long sleeves, and a pair of washed-out black jeans that were at least one size too big. She really was starting to miss the cosplay leather jacket.

“Evening,” Veronica echoed curtly, “I heard you have a delivery for me.”

“Down in the parking lot and in good hands,” he replied nimbly, “I ran into your driver downstairs. He said he was expecting me.”

“That’s Smithers for you. Always on his toes,” she remarked, offering a gentle smile of her own.

There was an awkward pause where neither of them knew what to say next, so they openly stared at each other like it wasn’t excessively rude to do so.

“I – “

“Here – “

Veronica couldn’t help but chuckle at that. It wasn’t so much the simultaneous speech that she found amusing, it was more so the fact that she usually knew just what to say or do in situations like these but standing before this boy whom she admittedly would have never given the time of the day in any other circumstances, she didn’t have a clue.

“You go first,” she urged.

Jughead nodded and kept it short, “Here’s your key,”

He kept his gaze lowered as he extended out his closed fist. Veronica stuck out her open palm and noticed how he was taking the uttermost caution to not touch her as he dropped the key into her hand. She didn’t know if she should be offended or rejoiced at his apprehension

Veronica uttered a cordial ‘thank you’ in return and waved him into the apartment. “Come. I have something for you too.”

She listened to his soft footsteps that followed her own. Then it stopped and she heard him whistle sharply, “You’ve got the place to yourself?”

“All by my lonesome, yes,” she answered with ease as she surveyed the bare granite countertop, and realized that she must have accidentally dumped the pizza box on top of it and took a look under only to be quite correct with her assumption, “There you go.

She waved the twenty-dollar bill in the air and swivel around to offer it to Jughead, only to find him looking less than impressed with her.

Veronica frowned. “Too little?”

“I don’t know how you do it back home, Lodge, but a friendship isn’t transactional in my book,” he said as he took a few steps towards her. The corner of his lips stretched into a timorous smile that she wasn’t quite used to seeing on him as he spoke the next few words, “You can keep your money. I already got plenty of that hefty commission you made Mustang give me.”

Ah, so that came up.

“You sure? This is enough for at least three burgers at Pop’s,” Veronica joked, deciding to keep it light since she didn’t know where this was heading, “And wait, are you suggesting that we _are_ friends – officially?”

“Well, I have an inkling that you always get your way eventually, so I thought I should save myself the trouble and surrender early,” Jughead didn’t look at her once during this admission and opted for toying with the edge of the gold photo frame that contained the Lodge family portrait, “To answer your question…yes, officially speaking, we are friends. Just don’t expect me to stay up braiding your hair and give you boy advice.”

“I think I’ve made enough female friendships over the last few weeks to have that covered,” Veronica reassured and while she knew she should have taken that as a victory, she just had to know, “At the risk of ruining this friendship before it even begins, what changed your mind?”

“You were right. There’s a common ground here, between you and I,” he confessed, glancing up from the picture so he could look at her in real life. “And you didn’t have to stand up to Weatherbee for me, just like how you didn’t have to with Mustang. But you did anyway, and I think that’s worth something.”

“Not that I don’t appreciate the sentiment, but you know you could have just said thank you instead of giving me that long-winded speech?” Veronica teased as she tucked the bill away in her monogram wallet.

Naturally, Jughead rolled his eyes in response. “I’ll be sure to steer clear of sharing any profound thoughts with you in the future.”

“Thank you,” Veronica effused in faux merriment, “I don’t think my ice-cold heart can take much more of that.”

He chuckled lowly at her sarcasm, his indigo eyes bouncing around the room like a he had taken a fall down the rabbit hole. “I know I made that joke yesterday about you staying in a castle, but you really are living it up like royalty.”

Veronica was about to comment on how much smaller the place was in comparison to her old place in New York but thought she should keep that one to herself. The Pembrooke must have seemed like the Sistine chapel to Jughead who lived in a trailer.

“Only the best for, well, the very best,” she preened.

“Yeah, I can see that,” Jughead muttered without much feeling, but then his impassive gaze landed on her television set and brightened in a snap, “Is that the Dick Van Dyke Show that you’re watching?”

Veronica hummed an affirmative as she ambled over to the sink and got herself a glass of water. “It’s that episode where –“

“Rob and Laura compete over who should matchmake their new neighbour, yeah I know,” he concluded without a shred of uncertainty to him, “It’s a good one. I don’t remember the last time I’ve heard of someone watching the show. To be honest, I don’t think I know one person in this town who actually knows who Dick Van Dyke is.”

“That’s impossible. If not, then that’s got to be one of the biggest ironies because not unlike the show, Riverdale is all for wholesome families and outdated hairdo’s,” Veronica rebutted, a touch antagonistic as she took a bite of her half-eaten pizza, “It’s a staple in my house. I grew up watching it with my abuela on the weekends.”

“Unlike most of us, you can actually relate to the show as a native Manhattanites,” Jughead argued, “I don’t know what a-something means, but I grew up watching it as well. We only had a VCR player growing up so it was either this or the Brady Bunch.”

“A-bu-e-la,” she sounded it out slowly and ignored the pointed glare he sent her way, “That’s grandma in Spanish.”

“Smartass,” he mocked her tone, “That’s “don’t be a show-off” in basic American.”

Veronica acted all wounded as she unmuted the tv and nudged the cardboard box over to his side of the kitchen island. “Here, shove some of that down your throat. It should keep you quiet for the rest of the episode.”

Jughead chuckled wryly but obliged anyway by sitting down on the bench across from her. “Just letting you know; this amount of food is only good for the next fifteen minutes.”

“Like I said,” Veronica was feeling all sort of brazen as she stole the extra-large slice of pizza he had his eyes on, “The rest of the episode.”

* * *

It wasn’t just for the rest of that episode. Jughead ended up staying for one more and nearly emptied out her fridge in the process. It didn’t make any sense; the boy was so lanky but had the appetite of the whole army put together.

Veronica didn’t think they exchanged more than a few words throughout the entirety of that viewing. She was more than fine with that; she was sick of all the mental gymnastics that occurred inside her head whenever she so much as opened her mouth. It was a welcomed change from all the chatting she’d been forced to do with Betty earlier today.

Speaking of Betty, the Cooper’s office sure was chaotic. What a drastic contrast to their perfectly humble home, Veronica thought scathingly as she leafed through one of the many unorganised files on Hal Cooper’s desk. She should have known; behind every idyllic suburban family was a filthy mess, and in Betty’s parents’ case, they were juggling several messes. Just from a quick scan of their desks, she could pinpoint several unfilled and unsent tax forms, classified crime scene photos from Greendale, unauthorised files on several Riverdale residents, and copies of toxicology reports with the names blacked out. She knew that the Register was supposed to be the go-to news publication for the town, but she imagined that there’d be more than a few angry faces if it was ever revealed that the Coopers were drawing up reports based on illegally obtained information and sources – no matter how reliable they may be. This was so much better than she had expected when she filched the set of keys off the Cooper’s foyer.

Veronica was almost gleeful as she swung around in Alice Cooper’s swivel armchair, and unlocked the top drawer of the storage cabinet. She had to take a moment to get a grip on her greediness so that she didn’t devote too much time on the immaterial things. Immaterial, but juicy, no doubt. While it was logistically helpful that the Coopers had alphabetized their documents, it was wildly unhelpful in lulling her inner rumourmonger. She’d only gotten through the ‘A’s and she’d already seen two names she was itching to know more about. She’d have to give herself a pat on the back later for not reading Archie’s file. She bet every other page was a love letter from Betty where she dotted the ‘I’ in his name with a pink heart or something equally nauseating. After a few minutes of aimless flicking, Veronica decided to screw it and went straight to the ‘B’s.

“Here we go,” Veronica murmured to no one in particular as she pulled out two impossibly thick binders with the label ‘Blossom’ printed on each of them.

The file was broken up into several smaller sections. She didn’t recognise most of the names indicated on the dividers and judging by how substantial each of the sections was, she wasn’t going to have enough time to read up on all of them. She flipped straight to Cheryl and was faced with a cluster of baby pictures, followed by a birth certificate, some paper works for the hospital release, and blah, blah blah – boring. She went through a few more pages of cheer pictures and trivial cut-out of some ‘Blue & Gold’ articles that made mention of the bombshell until she finally reached the ‘my brother disappeared’ portion. Her conversation with Betty this afternoon had left with high hopes for Cheryl. Disappointed was minimizing how Veronica felt when she found only a brief statement. _Oh well, that was that,_ she thought with a small sigh, and quickly snapped a picture of the police report with her phone. She then backtracked to Clifford’s section and was about to go straight to the police stuff, when she came across a yellowing page titled _‘the Blossom’s curse.’_ It must have been written some years ago because the whole thing was obviously put together with a typewriter. She skimmed through the first paragraph and was not surprised to find that it was another old wives’ tale; some mumbo jumbo about how one twin would eventually meet a violent end at the hand of the other. She rolled her eyes and was close to giving the whole lore a skip when she spotted a shortlist of names at the very bottom of the page. Someone must have penned it in later because the word ‘DEATHS’ was made with a felt-tip. The only name she recognised underneath that heading was Jason. She marked the page with her pinky and turned binder on its side. It was just as she thought; the names matched the ones on the index – they were all Blossoms who have died. She picked a random name from the list of deaths and turned over to their respective segment.

“Let’s see,” Veronica licked her lips and began her read-up on Baron Blossom.

It was easy enough to work out where he fitted into the family tree – great grandfather to Cheryl and Jason, grandfather to Claudius and Clifford and uncle to Louis Cooper, who was grandfather to Betty and Polly. Confusing and incestuous, but she got the gist. Someone had gone and circled the ‘sibling(s)’ heading with a red pen, but the name next to the colon was crossed out with a black marker. _How odd,_ Veronica thought as she carefully slid the paper out of the plastic sheet and held it under the glaring beam of the vintage desk lamp. She adjusted the height until the light was on a slanted angle against the report. _Well, that wasn’t going to work,_ Veronica huffed as she unscrewed the latch loose and rotated the lamp all the way around so it was facing up at the ceiling. She placed that section of the report over the glow, and bingo. Whoever scratched out the name wasn’t all that thorough, because under all that black scribbling was an indentation of their writing.

“Langham Cooper né Blossom.”

Veronica took another look into the cabinet and grabbed the ‘Cooper’ binder, but found that there was no divider labelled Langham. She couldn’t see anything on Langham in the ‘Blossom’ file either. Evidently, one of the Coopers thought it necessary to keep the identity of the other brother secret, even going as far as to erase him from both the families’ lineage. Now that she thought about it, they were probably aiming to do the same with Polly. Looking into the Blossoms hadn’t been a complete waste of time, the files had made it easy for Veronica to deduce that Langham was the first Blossom to take the Cooper name. It couldn’t be through marriage, if that was the case Polly and Jason would have known they were kissing cousins instead of high school sweethearts. The only possible explanation was that Langham Blossom had severed himself from the family line and rebranded as a ‘Cooper.’

Veronica turned the page over for the cause of death. Of course, Baron Blossom was murdered. By who? Not known – yeah right. Assuming that the family curse was real, all signs pointed to Langham Blossom, Copper – whatever – killing his brother and likely twin, Baron. And if she was to stick by that assumption, it wouldn’t be completely out of the question that the Clifford and Penelope Blossom chose to kill off their son for the sake of their daughter’s safety. They certainly had enough wealth to meet her father’s price. She took a few minutes to cross-reference all the other names on the ‘death list’, which only further backed the premise of the curse – all the Blossom twins (and there were lots of them) had something to do with the other’s demise. Yeah, she was going to need a Panadol after this.

She pinched her throbbing temple and glanced at the LED clock positioned next to the door, only to realize that she’d already spent over an hour at the Register. She swallowed down the groan that was threatening to rip through her dry throat and lugged the heavy folder over onto Alice Cooper’s desk. She heedlessly ran through an inane amount of irrelevant information and was immensely relieved when she found stapled copies of Penelope and Clifford’s statements. She splayed them out and took a couple of pictures to make sure the writing was decipherable on her iPhone screen.

Veronica felt about ready to leave after that. She wasn’t going to crack the case with scraps of information that were barely tying together anyway. She shrugged on her coat and gathered her Hermes. After this, she would break out of the office just as she’d broken in, like a ghost in the night.

She would have called it a night if she had not come across a grainy, black and white picture marked as ‘Daniel Montana’ that dated back to three months ago. The problem was that she did. The other problem was that it wasn’t Daniel Montana in the picture, it was Michael Minetta.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, this whole Barchie situation is killing me! I hope the supposed 5-year jump that the writers have planned for next season actually do something about the Barchie situation and it opens up the door for Jughead and Veronica to bond. 
> 
> Anyway, about this chapter - there's admittedly a lot going on. I hope you enjoy all the extra Jeronica that I've thrown in. As always, thanks for all the comments and kudos you leave. It honestly motivates me to put out even better writing to make you guys proud of me x

Veronica’s mind was plagued by the thought of fatality. Some nights she startled awake by the fear that the incubus of death would devour her family next. Other nights she stayed awake, tossing and turning and waiting for the other shoe to drop. It always felt like she was being watched. It always felt like whatever took Jason down to the river was calling out to her.

Veronica once heard that it was healthy to take breaks so she distracted herself with a reasonably difficult crossword puzzle found on page eight of the Riverdale Register. Wednesday night at Pop’s was the ultimate graveyard shift. It was always eerily silent, so soundless and sleepy that you could hear the soft buzzing of the LED sign outside the windows. This usually gave her time to drink too much coffee and ponder useless things, like how she was too young to contemplate her demise. She thought about how it was inevitable. Then she thought about how she was not ready for the inevitable.

She was twirling a pencil idly, hemming, and hawing over an eight-letter word that started with ‘D’ and ended with ‘C.’ The clue was tedious morality; she knew nothing about that. She was gnawing off a layer of her lipstick when the bell rattled against the door.

Veronica looked up from the puzzle and found another puzzle she was yet to solve.

“Jughead,” she nodded curtly at the dark-haired boy as he stepped through the threshold, the sleeve of his blazer dragging on the lino floor, “It’s been a while.”

“Depends,” Jughead dropped down on the stool before her, “Do you consider three days to be a while?”

“Glad to know you’re counting the days,” Veronica teased upon hearing that unintentional slip, “Coffee?”

“Always”

She did her best to be subtle as she watched Jughead from behind the pot of black coffee. He carefully folded up the black blazer he had carried through the door moments ago and ruined all that hard work by carelessly throwing it over the empty stool beside him. He looked fraught like he had been forced to swallow a jagged pill and it was still stuck in his throat. She slid the steaming mug over to him and listened to him mutter a small gratitude as he undid his collar and loosened the knot on the matching tie. His locks were slicked back with some products to keep it from going unruly. Veronica couldn’t make up her mind whether she liked it better when the dark curls hung over his face like a permanent shadow or when it was tamed like this.

“Why so dressed up for?”

Jughead glanced down at his formal attire in discomfit and unbuttoned his sleeves in a haste, rolling them up to his elbows. “It’s for my dad’s sentence hearing.”

There was not much to do for fun around here, so the kids had taken to gossiping as a way to kill time. The kids told her that FP Jones was a bad, bad man, who was going to be put away for a very long time. The kids had no sympathy for the man or his family, and as Josie liked to remind her; “no one should feel bad for a drug trafficker.” The kids were merciless and more importantly, they were full of shit. The kids didn’t stop to think about Jughead Jones.

Customarily, Veronica would put a hand over her heart and say “ _I’m sorry to hear that”_ with a sad little frown, but there was nothing customary about him, so she saved it and asked, “How’d it go?”

“As well as it could have gone,” he replied vaguely and took a prolonged sip of the caffeine, “He’s looking at ten years. I thought the DA was going to try and pin him with more time, so this is as good as it’s going to get.”

She nodded because she knew words were fruitless in the face of prison. Her mind wandered over to her own father, how she was going to miss his trial, and how it might be for the better. She didn’t know how she would take it if justice meant her father was guilty. Would she cry for him? Would she pray? Would it feel like a heavy weight had been lifted off her chest? 

Veronica peered up at him from the invisible ice cream stain she was pretending to scrub; his face was unreadable. “Is that why you haven’t been at school all week?”

Jughead gave a mirthful laugh and she decidedly liked that much better than the gloominess he’d taken to fashioning for the evening. “Should I be flattered that someone like you noticed that I’ve been missing classes?”

“Naturally”

He scoffed at her vanity. Then, “Weatherbee was feeling magnanimous and gave me a personal week off.”

“That’s unlike him,” she muttered stalely and topped up the coffee without his request, “Also, because I don’t want to get accused of being a lousy waitress – what would you like today?”

Much to her surprise, he shook his head ‘no.’ “I didn’t drop by for dinner. I already ate on the way over.”

“Jughead Jones turning down food…” Veronica made a show of looking around the empty diner expectantly, then inched over the counter so he could hear her hushed gasp, “Is the apocalypse finally upon us?”

Despite the eye roll, the half-curl of his dry lips told her that she was not the only one who found the spoof amusing. “Look, I swung by because I wanted to ask – ” Jughead hesitated as his hand travelled to the back of his neck and massaged the knots out, “I thought that since we’re friends now, you might be interested in going to see ‘ _The Killers’_ on Friday night at the Twilight Drive-In.”

Veronica could sense the absence of the words he never said. There was a ‘with me’ somewhere if you squint hard enough between the lines of his invitation, and so she did. If this was any other boy, she would have made them sweat a bit, but this was Jughead they were talking about – it was a goddamn miracle that he was even suggesting they do something together.

“Sure,” she agreed readily with a smile that wasn’t completely devoid of feeling, “Although, I have to ask – who still goes to a drive-in when Netflix is a click away?”

“Me,” he declared with a glare, “You’ve got to be kidding, right? Netflix cheapens the whole viewing experience. It doesn’t make sense that the small screen of a laptop can capture the full spectrum of the cinematography.”

Veronica put her hands up in surrender. “I never said that streaming was superior, just said that it was easier.”

“Ease is what’s ruining art, Lodge.”

“Said the pretentious asshole,” she quipped and matched his arrogant gaze with her own, “Anyway, I see that this must be one, if not, the only perk of living in a small town. The only way I could catch a black and white flick in New York is if I went to the film forum, and boy, do I love Ava Gardner.”

“I thought you might,” Jughead remarked, taking her by surprise, “I see some parallels there.”

Veronica didn’t know what to take from that. She’d spend the majority of her life thinking she was graceful like Audrey or a firecracker Liz. Jughead stood up suddenly, and the gravelly sound of the metal scraping against the floor took her out of her musing. He gathered up his blazer and rummaged through one of the pockets for some loose change to pay for the drink.

“It’s on me,” Veronica told him before he could move onto the pockets of his dress pants, “You just worry about going home and getting some rest. You look like you don’t remember the last time you got some shut-eye.”

“Yeah, it has been a while,” he admitted sheepishly as he smothered a yawn and fixed her with a concerned look, “You’re looking a bit frail yourself, Lodge.”

She kept her eyes down in the hope of escaping his scrutiny and joked, “Is that how you speak to a girl?”

That had the intended effect and threw him off.

“I said frail, not tired, didn’t I?” Jughead countered, challenging her to refute him. When she said nothing in return, he added offhandedly, “It’s didactic, by the way. Eight across, beginning with D and meaning tedious morality.”

Veronica stared at him blankly, then down at the crossword – _of course, it worked._ When she looked up again, he was already halfway to the door and covered in the luminescent glow of the purple neon that shone over Pop’s and its inhabitants. She was struck by how he occupied this space that he clashed so horrendously with. Everyone else here looked like they had their rightful place in Riverdale – a purpose, a meaning, but not him; he looked like a spirit trapped in a town that wouldn’t set him free.

“Hey, Jughead,” she called out him causing him to pause mid-step. He made a one-eighty turn so he could regard her with an imploring quirk of the brow, “Do you happen to know of a Daniel Montana?”

He seemed to seriously consider it for a brief moment, but nothing.

“No, never heard of him before,” Jughead told her and it sounded like the truth, “Why do you ask and why ask me?”

Thanks to the Coopers’ complete lack of intel on the supposed Daniel Montana, Veronica spent the better part of her school nights googling his name, then Michael Minetta, then reverse-image searching the blurry CCTV capture that had no context to it whatsoever. Needless to say, nothing popped up. That tends to happen when you get involved with the Lodge empire. She had, however, placed the splintered sign that could be seen outside the window of whatever establishment Minetta, or Montana, was in at the time the picture was taken, to be the same sign outside the abandoned gas station Jughead had driven pass on their way out of Southside.

“My mother recently hired a new bodyguard. His references are a bit limited, but he mentioned that he used to do some work on the Southside of Riverdale. I thought I’d try my luck and ask seeing as you’re a local,” Veronica baited as she toyed with the flimsy corner of the newspaper, “Oh well, what can you do?”

Jughead sucked in his top lip, faltering for a split second before he came to a practical solution she was hoping he would. “I’ll ask around for you.”

She brightened and this time, it wasn’t for pretend. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you, princess” was the last thing he said to her before he exited.

-

In the grand scheme of things, Veronica knew it was childish. It shouldn’t matter, especially since she wasn’t looking to play seductress like the usual. Still, she had her rules and while she believed in breaking everyone else’s, she did not believe in breaking her own. She never called or texted a boy first. She was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, she always gave them the illusion of the hunt. That way it was easier to pounce when they had served their purpose and she was ready to rip them into pieces.

But Jughead did have her number and he was the one who asked if she wanted to go to the movies. He extended the invite, so as far as basic courtesy went, he should be the first to get in touch with her.

Veronica had no problem icing out men who couldn’t come through. It was rare, but since you can count on the male kind to be a disappointment one way or the other, she was always happy to act like a potential suitor was dead to her when things went awry. If Veronica Lodge gave you a shot, you better make it worth her time. The problem was that Jughead wasn’t even close to being on her to-do list; she couldn’t very well play games with him like he was one of her beaus. The other issue was that he was her ticket to Southside. She couldn’t let her pettiness get in the way of self-preservation.

So when the fourth period rolled around on Friday and her phone buzzed against her thigh, Veronica couldn’t wait for the bell and had to take a quick peek under her skirt. The immense relief that flooded through her when she saw Jughead’s name on the screen must have gone straight to her face because Kevin had given her a quizzical look that she couldn’t explain away. She read the message on the way to her next class and felt her frown deepen with every word. It was short but not sweet – he basically told her to meet in front of Pop’s around six forty-five and to bring her car unless she wanted to ride in the truck. There was nothing gentlemanly or sweet about it. It was so on-brand for him that it made her stop in the middle of the hallway just so she could guffaw.

For the first time in her seventeen years of life, Veronica didn’t worry about what to wear to an outing with a boy. She never felt better, putting on a pair of Capri pants and an open collar sweater. She didn’t even bother to consult the overhead mirror once she got into the driver seat and skipped straight to reversing out of the parking lot. If only it was always this easy, Veronica sighed dreamily at the thought of an alternate reality where looking effortless to a boy really didn’t entail any effort from her part. Veronica pulled up to Pop’s five minutes early. She didn’t want to risk another tirade of groaning and moaning from Jughead about her inability to stick to the time. She was right to think so too, because there he was – leaning against the pillar, a cigarette hanging from his lips, and his trusty leather jacket strapped onto his body like an armour.

Veronica noticed how he was compulsively checking for the time and couldn’t help but rolled her eyes. She stuck her head out the window and called out his name, then to hammer it home she blasted the horn. A couple of high schoolers hanging on the other side of the lot jumped at the sound, tipping their drinks onto their dates. That was enough to send Veronica into a chuckling fit as she watched the girls shrieked at the top of their lungs about their ruined dress they probably picked up on discount.

“Was that necessary, Lodge?” Jughead asked, unamused as he hung off the windowsill of her ride.

“Nope, but it was fun,” she said, her chest still humming pleasantly with laughter, “Hurry up and get in, will you? I don’t want to be late for the movie.”

“Sure, your highness,” his tone was tart, but he hopped in anyway.

Immediately, Veronica’s nose was tickled with the familiar smell of grease and, “Is that cheese?”

“Yes, burgers from Pop’s usually does come with cheese,” he snarked and directed her attention to the heap of paper bags on his lap, “We also have onion rings, grilled cheese, chicken tenders, chilli fries, waffle fries, french fries – “

“I get it, we have all the fries."

Jughead gave her a self-satisfied smile and stacked two chocolate milkshakes in the cupholder. She didn’t know how he knew her drink order and she tried not to think too much about it as she turned the wheel and backed away from the curb.

“I’m going to need you to direct me, Jones.”

“It’s less than a five-minute drive away,” he assured her, “Take the next right.”

It was hard to miss the drive-in after making the turn. There was an old school billboard that stood tall over the traffic lights and surrounding buildings. The actual ‘twilight-drive in’ sign at the top was barely lit in a deep indigo shade that threatened to meld into the night sky if not for the speckle of stars. The bold text was lined up crookedly to read ‘ _The Killers’_ and underneath the title were two additional dedicated to listing out the four lead actors. _No way you could find anything like this in the city,_ Veronica thought to herself as she switched into the left lane and turned into the driveway entry.

There was only one car in line before them and she didn’t recognize it. When it was their turn to pull up to the ticket booth, Jughead didn’t let her or even the kid working on the night get a word out.

“Hey, Ben. How’s it going?”

The blonde-haired boy broke into a grin at the sight of Jughead and jumped off the wooden stool he’d been straddling for god knows how long now.

“Jug! I didn’t know it was you, man. Nice car!” He babbled excitedly as his bright eyes flitted over the Chevy appreciatively, “Who’s this? She’s hot!”

A wince marred Jughead’s brow. Meanwhile, Veronica enjoyed having her ego tended to and beamed wickedly at the sandy-haired boy as she asked, “Do I get a discount for that?”

Jughead shushed her with a withering glare as he reached over her with a ten-dollar bill and offered it to the younger boy.

“Nah, man, keep the other five,” Ben declined in a daze, still staring at Veronica as some drool began to spill over the side of his mouth, “Discounts for ex-employees.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s discounts for employees only,” Jughead corrected him as he withdrew with two tickets and five dollars in hand, “But thanks, Ben.”

“Anytime,” she faintly heard the boy call after them, “Oh, and anytime to your lady friend too!”

“Wait, you used to work here?”

“Up until last year,” he confirmed with a nod, “I used to do Ben’s job.”

Veronica turned to him, her berry tinged lips curling. “He’s a sweet kid.”

“That you just tried to exploit for a freebie,” Jughead reminded with a snort, “Park anywhere you want. Just not too far back.”

“Why not?” she asked for curiosity’s sake as she looked for an empty spot that was closest to the screen. The land was mostly desolated so that made her job easy. It was a matter of taking your pick.

“The crowd’s always rowdier in the back,” Jughead told her and pointed at a secluded spot that was a little further out in the field, “There work for you?”

“Alright,” Veronica licked her lips as she steered straight into the spot, “But I want you to take this as a token of my trust. You can easily drive off at the end of the movie with a dead body in your car and no one here would suspect a thing.”

He appraised her with a zany look. “You’ve got some morbid imagination, you know that?”

“Doesn’t mean I’m wrong,” she retorted and switched off the headlights.

Veronica had to admit that the drive-in was beautiful, in a passé kind of way, but nevertheless beautiful. It felt like she had travelled back to another time; a simpler time where teenagers walked around in the dead of night without any fear and lovers kissed underneath the moonlight until the sky turned orange. Riverdale never seemed of this time to begin with anyway. It was as if there had been a shift in the tectonic plates and the town mysteriously fell into a retrogressive space. She wondered if the town was fortunate enough to stay stuck in the past until her father and his goons caused a ripple through time by butchering the town’s golden child and bringing them all to the forefront of the violence that had long afflicted the rest of the world.

“Here,” Jughead held up a double cheeseburger, “It’s my treat for the night so you better eat up.”

Veronica cleared her head of any ominous thoughts and took the burger off his hand. “Give me a heads-up next time it’s your treat. That way I can make sure to get everything off the menu.”

“Ease up, princess,” he said playfully, then tore into the hotdog, “This is my way of thanking you for that commission. Don’t expect there to be a next time. Between the bills and the rent, I’ll be back to being broke in no time.”

Veronica paused to take a long-drawn sip of her drink. “I don’t mind funding your incorrigible appetite, as long as you start showing some gratitude.”

“I’ll start saying ‘please’ and ‘thank you’,” Jughead offered and chomped down a handful of fries, “How’s that?”

“Sensible”

He was closed to polishing off the second set of waffle fries when the count down for the movie appeared on the dimmed screen. The opening credit rolled, the grandeur music that signalled in the golden era of Hollywood thrummed in her ears and she found herself easing into the leather seat. She felt like they were back on the road, but this time they were heading for an entirely different destination. Veronica felt like she was driving towards a place where no one knew of her and she knew of no one, and all her worries were fast fading in the side view mirrors. Jughead gently placed another bag of junk food in her lap, and she devoured it without much thought. He would occasionally lean over and whisper things to her about the film. He would tell her facts she had never heard of and had a hard time believing, and in return, she threw out trivia that he called ‘bullshit’ on. They joked about how Burt Lancaster looked evil in just about everything he was in, and Jughead admitted that he always thought that the man would have made a good fit for a Bond villain. Veronica then confessed that she found the New Jersey accent phoney and he swore up and down that it made the movie more authentic of its time. It got to the scene where Ava Gardner dramatically flashed her onyx eyes at the camera and vehemently spat out the show-stopping line. She saw herself in Kitty then, Jughead must have too but he didn’t need to say anything. She got what he meant when he flashed her a smirk once Ava Gardner was finished telling Colfax that he won’t live till morning if he dared touch her. Veronica forgot about who she was for long enough that all that mattered was that she was here, living out this moment with him.

Then came the unwanted reminders.

She thought about it for a hundred times after that. Maybe if they had parked elsewhere, maybe if the screen didn’t burn so bright during that one scene, maybe if Kevin’s date hadn’t cancelled, how he would have never crash Betty’s and Archie’s plan for the night and suggested they all check out the drive-in. In the end, Veronica always came back to that wintry night and all the ways it could have been different for her and Jughead.

“Veronica?!”

Kevin stopped dead in his track, his body perfectly aligned with Edmond O’Brien.

Betty and Archie took a few steps backwards and joined Kevin in his state of shock. “Jughead?!”

In the grand scheme of things, Veronica should have known that that would put a spanner in the works.

-

A wise woman once said that when a private conversation needed to be had between two female parties, they must take it to the lady’s room. Betty must have missed that memo because she was now asking all the wrong questions out in the open.

“So, you guys are friends, for real…?”

“And if you are, how am I only finding out about it now?” Kevin stuffed his head through her window and added with quickness, “This would have been pure gold for my gossip column.”

“Hence why you don’t know,” Jughead grumbled.

“Oh Jughead, I always find out,” Kevin said patronizingly as he trailed his finger down the hood of her car, “Nice ride, by the way, V. How come you’ve never driven it to school? Moose would jizz his pants if he saw it.”

Veronica smiled tightly. “Thanks, Kev and yes, it’s new. This is my first time taking it out for a spin actually.”

First time with a registered number plate on, maybe. She’d already driven it twice down to the Register in the dead of the night with two different plates on. She couldn’t believe she went through all the trouble of going back for the Coopers’ files on her parents only to come up empty-handed. At least now she knew that her mother was a total nerd in high school.

“This isn’t a big deal,” Betty blurted out in a random attempt to dissipate the palpable tension between Archie and Jughead.

She was quite amazed to discover how a dirty look, if volatile enough, could penetrate several dense layers of steel. Jughead, on the other hand, was feeling more piqued than impressed and he rolled up his window so he could ignore Archie’s scowl in peace.

“Exactly, Bettykins,” Veronica simpered at her blonde friend and offered her some soggy fries, “It’s cold but it’s still from Pop’s.”

“Thanks, V,” Betty returned her smile stiffly, then turned to the dark-haired boy beside her and mustered a weak wave, “Hey, Juggie.”

“Betty,” Jughead greeted laconically, not bothering to take his eyes off the screen.

Veronica furrowed her brows at how frosty that was.

“Hey, what happened to your crown beanie?” the blonde tried again, but with a conversation starter this time, “You’re never without that thing.”

“Retired it over the summer,” his reply came off as well-practiced, “I was bound to outgrow that thing at some point.”

A lie. It was a lie. Veronica knew it had to be because she distinctly remembered the said grunge-inspired eyesore drooping down his head on the first night that she walked into Pop’s. He was lying through his teeth and she didn’t know why; it was such an inconsequential thing to fib about.

“Jughead Jones without his signature accessory?” Kevin sounded scandalized, “What a time to be alive!"

“Can you pipsqueaks over there shut the hell up? We’re trying to watch a goddam movie here!”

They all turned at the angry ranting of one pissed off, and drunk biker. Jughead wasn’t wrong about the last row being of a rowdier nature, he just decided to omit the fact they were largely occupied by outlaws. The whole back end of the field was lined with run-down trucks and even more Harley-Davidsons. The irate man crushed a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon with his bare hand and threw it at them, missing Kevin’s head by mere centimetres. The rest of them cheered him on heartily as he sat back down.

“You want to go tell your friends to leave us alone?” Archie bit out harshly, “Kevin could have gotten seriously hurt.”

“By what?” Jughead spat and narrowed his eyes, “The one empty can of beer?”

 _Friends?_ Veronica peeked over her shoulders to take another look at the group of bikies. _Hypocrites the bunch of them,_ she scoffed softly as she watched one of them turn their back to the movie and struck up a conversation with a fellow biker. She didn’t catch it earlier that all them had on leather jackets, but now that one of them was facing the other way she got a good look at the stitching on the back. An emerald green embellishment of a double-headed viper shaped in an ‘S’ shape took up most of the space, but there was Southside sowed under the collar and Serpents at the bottom. So, they were the infamous gang that Riverdale just couldn’t get enough of.

“Veronica”

She wound around to see that it was Archie who uttered her name. His face was so contorted with resentment that you would think someone had run over his dog.

“Yes, Archiekins?”

“I’m going to get popcorn. Can you come with?”

“It’s straight and to your right. You should know, we’ve been coming here since we were eight,” Jughead cut in snidely, “Or do you still have difficulty telling your right from your left?”

“Jug!” Betty scolded.

“Alright then,” Veronica muttered awkwardly and decided it was best to put some distance between the two, “Sure, Archie. I could do with some popcorn anyway.”

She plastered on a stiff smile as she nudged the door open with her elbow and stepped out of the car. Archie drove his foot into the grass, twisting side to side in barely contained frustration as he waited for her to circle to him. By the time, she got to him, there was a dent in the ground and the sole of his shoes were covered in mud.

“Do you guys want anything?” she asked genially to all the tense faces around.

They all shook their head, except Jughead who blatantly ignored her offer and pulled out a pack of Marlboro from his jacket.

“We’ll be back shortly,” Veronica promised before following behind Archie who was taking large strides to get away from the unsavoury situation he played a part in creating.

“I thought you and Betty were going to the Bijou,” Veronica remarked as an ice breaker.

“Yeah, well, there was nothing good on tonight,” Archie explained, “Then we ran into Kevin on the way back to mine and he thought we should all check out the Drive-in, in case they were playing ‘My Fair Lady.’”

“Right,” she nodded gingerly as they approached the snack bar.

Archie echoed her utterance as he stuffed both hands into his bomber jacket and stepped into the line. Veronica was about to suggest they get the family pack for better value, when the redhead suddenly burst out with, “Are you and Jughead on a date?”

“What? No,” Veronica almost laughed at the sheer lunacy of that thought.

Archie looked mildly relieved to hear this. “So you guys are just hanging out?”

“Yeah,” she said, although she may as well have gone with ‘duh’, “We’re friends.”

The jock glared down at the ground and crushed a discarded biscuit with the heel of his foot. “Do you think that’s such a good idea?”

Veronica was feeling more irritated with every passing second. She held back a gruelling sigh and chastised the red-headed boy with an imperious twitch of the brow. “If you have something that you want to say, just say it, Archie.”

He didn’t care to take a breather before launching straight into it. “Look, Ronnie, I don’t know what Jughead has told you about me, and why we’re not tight like we used to be – “

“He hasn’t,” Veronica cut him off, “In fact, he refused to even discuss it out of respect to you. Which is funny, and sad – it’s sad that you’re so eager to paint him in a bad light so you can play the good guy in my eyes.”

“Come on, Veronica,” he huffed in exasperation, “I – no, I wasn’t trying to do that.”

“You weren’t?” she challenged, “So you weren’t going to insist that whatever it is that Jughead might have told me was a lie, and your side of the story is the one I should believe?”

Archie lips pursed into an angry thin line as he pressed a light hand to her back so he could guide them away from the queue of people.

“Trust me on this,” he started, lowering his voice as a couple of kids sprinted pass them in a game of tag, “Jughead is not someone you want to be associated with. There’s a lot that you don’t know about him, and if only you knew Veronica…” he trailed off, he looked torn then as if he was weighing the consequences of his next few words, “If only you knew even the half of it, you wouldn’t be so open to the idea of driving around town with him.”

“Just a few weeks ago you were telling Betty and Kevin off for talking behind Jughead’s back and now you’re telling me to keep myself distance because he’s bad news. Can’t you see how that might be confusing for me?” Veronica reasoned, “If you want me to trust you on this, Archie, you’re going to have to give me more than this.”

“Because his dad got my dad shot,” Archie sputtered in a restrained yell, “Jughead and his dad – they’re not good people, Veronica.”

Archie looked manic then like he was ready to attack anytime now. His pupils were so dilated that she could barely see any of the whites of his eyes, and his teeth were bared like a wild animal. Seeing him like this, Veronica would have never guessed that this was the same boy who would smile at her shyly from across the classroom and strummed his guitar idly at lunchtime while he daydreamed of beautiful melody and poetic words to go with it.

“That’s not a reason, Archie,” Veronica rasped, her throat constricting painfully for some unknown reason, “That’s you blaming Jughead for something his dad did.”

She didn’t wait to see Archie’s face crumple, she didn’t even want to hear what he had to say for himself and turned on her heels. _Fuck popcorn_ , she thought in a fit of anger and stomped away in the other direction. Jughead and Archie were well within their rights to hold onto their petty grievances, but what they weren’t going to do was add her to their list of things to row over. Upon returning to her car, Veronica was elated to see that Betty and Kevin were nowhere in sight. She was convinced that she was in the clear until Jughead poked his head out the window and tiled it to the right, effectively drawing her attention to the scene that was unfolding three cars away.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, what now?”

Veronica grimaced and pushed down the urge to tear anything into two. She would save that for Cheryl when she was done with her, Veronica thought maniacally as she pranced over to where Kevin had parked his truck. Once she got close enough, she slowed her steps so she could get some perspective and prepare for the fuckery that was to come.

“You’re not Vixens material and you’ll never be. Please, do us and yourself, a favour and bow out early.”

Oh, so _that_ was what this was all about. Veronica knew that Betty had some idiotic fantasy of becoming a school cheerleader, she was just hoping that it would remain a fantasy. She should have known it would come to head when she offered to fetch the biology textbook from Betty’s locker a few days ago and found a neatly folded “Do you think you have what it takes to be a River Vixen?” pamphlet at the bottom of her backpack. Veronica had pushed aside her basic intuition that Betty might actually sign up as she slipped the key to the Register’s into the side pocket of her friend’s bag. She had heard rumblings of Alice Cooper’s epic meltdown over the missing key and thought it was time for it to magically turn up again. Although it wasn’t her fault that there was some unexpected delay in getting a copy made.

“Veronica! How nice of you to join us,” Cheryl announced haughtily as her heavily made-up eyes fell upon her, “Although it shouldn’t be much of a surprise. There must be something in the air tonight because all the freaks seem to be gathering in one place.”

Her gaggle of minions cackled like a bunch of noisy crows as the bombshell flipped her auburn locks over her shoulders. Veronica swore she saw Kevin catch the chills at the sound.

“But now that you are here…” Cheryl snacked her strawberry lips obnoxiously and hopped onto the back of the truck without an invite, “Why don’t you tell Bettykins here that she lacks a certain zest and glam for cheers? I heard it’s better when it comes from a friend.”

If Veronica was being honest with herself, she had to agree with Cheryl. Betty had neither the spunk or the spice for the job. She was more of a silent beauty that you uncover one quiet afternoon in the dusty corner of a bookshelf. Betty might be stereotypically pretty, but being a basic bitch wasn’t going to cut it in a squad of total babes.

“Try-out is supposed to be open to everyone,” Kevin pipped up, “You can’t just rule out Betty because you have personal beef with her.”

“Um, I can,” Cheryl said as if that was common knowledge, “I’m captain. I can rule out anyone I want.”

Kevin scoffed as he shook his head in disbelief. “Ok, Cheryl, you have the power, but that doesn’t make you fair.”

“Oh, shut up Keller,” the redhead sneered, “I’m so sick of you playing second fiddle to Betty. She’s not a fucking mute.”

 _No, she just doesn’t have a backbone,_ Veronica thought drolly before running straight into the warpath. “Cheryl, don’t you think you’re a tad extreme? You might be surprised by what Betty can do if you let her audition.”

“Unpleasantly surprised, maybe,” she snorted, “You trying out for my squad is one thing. Betty? Don’t think so.”

 _Damn it,_ Veronica cursed internally as the imaginary voice of one Jughead Jones echoed inside her skull and began to preach about thriving at what you’re great at. She can’t even think of cheers without seeing his scrunched up face now.

“If you’re going to make such a big deal out of this, Cheryl, then I just won’t show on the day,” Betty fidgeted with the hem of her sweater and conceded like a scared little mouse that she was, “I guess you win."

“Hold on a second,” Veronica wanted to staple her mouth shut for opening it in the first place. It was too late to stop now though, all eyes were on her and they were more than eager to hear what she had to say, “What if I do the try-out with Betty?”

Cheryl shook off her blasé exterior and eyed Veronica with interest. All of them waited in bated breath as the head bitch’s red lips split into a lethal grin and she got onto her feet.

The bombshell swaggered towards Veronica and looked down upon her despite their levelled height. “Look who comes crawling back? How lovely that the poor little rich girl Lodge has decided that we’re good enough for her to cheer with."

“I never said – “

“Well, I’ve decided that you’re no longer good enough for my squad,” Cheryl interrupted rudely, “A cheat and a scam don’t align with our school values.”

 _This bitch was really starting to piss her off,_ Veronica thought as she recoiled. “What did you just say to me?”

“You heard me,” Cheryl stood firm, placing both hands on her hips, “I hear daddy’s up for fraud. I give it two more months before the IRS is done raiding the books and your whole family is eviscerated of your ill-gotten gains.”

There was a ringing noise in her ears, it felt like a needle was repeatedly jabbing at her eardrums. She wondered if that was what fury sounded like, a deafening silence against the noisiness of the world. Or was this agony that she was hearing? Either way, she was going to end Cheryl Blossom.

“You should be scared.”

Cheryl yelped in mocking laughter. “Of what? Your soon to be broke ass?”

“No, you should be scared of the crippling loneliness that’s about come,” Veronica declared without so much as a pause, and smirked when her words smacked the pomposity off the other girl’s face, “Jason’s probably dead in a ditch somewhere. And it’s empty, isn’t it? To have the other half of your soul ripped away from you and know that you’re never going to feel whole again?”

“Veronica…” Betty interjected in awe but there was no holding her back now.

“I get it, he’s gone and you have no one. This squad is the only thing left that you can call yours,” Veronica surmised darkly, “It amazes me that you can be so protective of the things that are yours and yet fail so miserable at keeping it safe. Brother dearest ditched you for Betty’s hot, older sister. Now this squad is going to ditch you for me.”

She was going to pick Cheryl apart, piece by piece until she was irreparable. It was going to fucking hurt, she would make sure of that.

“They will ditch you because unlike you, I’m not a slave to my insecurities,” Veronica pushed the blade even deeper into Cheryl’s emotional gash, “Unlike you, I actually made something of myself and my last squad. What have you accomplished in your years as the head cheerleader? You have no title to show for it, and you certainly don’t have the respect. All you have is fear – fear that no one will ever love you, fear that you’re a disappointment, fear that _I_ am better than you.”

Cheryl’s pouty lips quivered, no tears but it was close enough. Veronica felt like a monster that had sated its appetite for destruction. She smiled, knowing she had performed surgery on Cheryl’s self-worth and left her with a gaping hole.

“See you at try-outs, Cheryl,” Veronica announced and flipped her ebony locks over her collarbone, “And bring your uniform. I don’t think you’ll be holding onto it much longer.”

-

When she finally made it back from the battlefield and to the safety of her Chevelle, Jughead informed her that there was only about “fifteen minutes left” of the movie for her to enjoy. _A perfectly lovely night ruined,_ she sulked and glared at him when he dared to ask about the popcorn.

He smoked like a chimney for the rest of the movie and the entirety of the drive back to Pop’s. Veronica attempted to initiate small-talks, which she also loathed but felt the need to do due to the pressure of the strained silence that never seemed to wane.

“Disregarding all the teenage melodrama and unnecessary confrontations, I’d say the night went well,” Veronica began and immediately cringed at how eager she sounded, “Can I just make one suggestion that we go see something with more refined dialogues next time? I think I must have heard wise guy or big guy in every other scene.”

“Sure,” Jughead said short and broody, his dimmed gaze trained on the empty road.

Finally, she could take no more and cracked the shits once she safely parked outside the diner.

“Ok, what’s your deal?”

Jughead shifted in his seat and threw her a side-long glance. “You don’t have to spare my feelings and pretend that you would want to do this again.”

Veronica crinkled her forehead, not understanding where he was going with this.

“It’s fine by me if you don’t want to hang out after this,” he muttered and burrowed further into his seat, his arms protectively folded over his chest.

Then it clicked.

“Oh, I get it,” she scoffed bitterly, “It’s because of that whole spiel with Archie. You think he told me things about you, and now I’m put off. Seriously, Jughead? How weak-minded do you think I am?”

“Did he tell you things, Lodge? Because I bet he couldn’t wait to throw dirt on my name to the girl of his wet dreams,” he glowered, still refusing to make eye contact.

“Why does it matter if he told me things?”

“How does it _not_?” Jughead retorted and threw his arms up in the air, scoffing in chagrin, “I must have been kidding myself when I thought we could actually be friends. Even if you don’t see me as a shell of my old man’s fucked ups now, it’s only a matter of time before you see it their way. And what do you even know about me anyway?” he lifted his chin just enough so he could look at her, his indigo eyes swirling with antipathy she didn’t think he knew was ruining him from inside out, “You’re only going to keep finding out more things about me – ugly, unforgivable, blood-curdling things. Then one day, it’s going to be one too many and you’ll blame me for not giving you the big picture from the get-go.”

Veronica couldn’t figure out why she cared so much, why it even mattered to her that they were friends. This was all a charade, wasn’t it? So why did she felt the burning need to grab him by the back of his throat and squeeze until the shame crawled out from his insides.

“What’s the big picture, Jughead?”

He swallowed as if it pained him to string together his speech. “The big picture goes something like this – I’m an abomination to the people of Riverdale, and eventually, I’ll be one to you too.”

Veronica envisioned it then; the disgust, the hatred that Jughead was talking about. But as she took him in – he who never cared for her family’s sins, he who looked to her always with an undying light in his eyes – she couldn’t even begin to comprehend how she would ever come to think of him as anything but a friend.

“This town can shun you however much you want, Jughead, that’s their business. But they can’t make me,” she could barely stand to look at him, but she didn’t have it in her to look away either, “You’re giving them exactly what they want, and you don’t even realise it.”

Veronica didn’t have to ask Jughead to get out of the car, he did that on his own volition. They silently agreed that there was nothing left to be said, but as Veronica drove back to the Pembrooke that night, she could think of at least fifty different things she wished he would have said to her. Every one of those things sounded something like _“this means something to me.”_


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not overly happy with this chapter, I can't really put my fingers on why but I'm just not. I've tried editing it a couple of times, and this as good as it's going to get I think lol 
> 
> I can't believe this season of Riverdale ended like that. I was really hoping that we'd get some Barchie in this week's episode, but I guess we'll just have to wait another 6 months for it /sigh/
> 
> ANYWAY, here's an update for you guys. More Jeronica, more mystery, more explanations and more things to be explained in future chapters. As always, THANK YOU for all the love and support - for the kudos you leave, the comments you take time to write, the encouragement. I appreciate every one of you for sticking along for the ride x

When an emergency town hall meeting was called, Veronica imagined the worst possible things that could happen. A) Jason Blossom’s body had been recovered, B) The town council was about to expose her for coming to Riverdale with ulterior motives, that being related to the ongoing investigation on the Blossom case, C) Another missing person’s case, or D) Another dead body.

Yeah, B – B was definitely the worst scenario imaginable. 

Sitting next to Veronica was her sister, who unlike the bundle of nerves that she was, was cool as ice. Hermosa looked bored to death as she persistently glanced down at her wristwatch. _Business must be good_ , Veronica couldn’t help but admire the jewel-encrusted Rolex. She didn’t understand how Hermosa could afford all the luxury that she did. She ran a goddamn night club under a dingy diner for god’s sake, how much revenue did she even rake in per annum? Eight-five thousand, ninety on a good year, maybe? That was nowhere near the price bracket of her accessory.

“Hey, V”

Veronica looked up to see a blonde ponytail, swinging side to side as her supposed best friend hovered over her.

“Hey, B,” Veronica returned a strangled smile as she took her hand off the chair to her left and placed it on her lap.

Betty took that as an invitation and smiled down at her sweetly as she sat down. They haven’t spoken since Friday, not face to face anyway. Betty had messaged her later that night, asking if she was fine and if she got home safe. Veronica had texted back a perfunctory, “ _Yes, fine. I’ll see you at school Monday morning.”_ In reality, she was far from fine. Cheryl’s torrid words had basically bitch-slapped her into a weekend of mild depression. She was going to need time to fully recuperate from that one. She was somewhat surprised that Betty didn’t swamp her with a torrent of messages over the weekend. She would have thought the blonde to be the type to demand that she “let it all out” because it was “healthy to talk about feelings.” Perhaps Betty decided it was best to keep her distance. Veronica knew that Kevin and Betty no longer saw her through rose-coloured glasses after she declared war on the HBIC of Riverdale High. 

“This is my sister, Hermosa. I don’t think you guys have met before,” Veronica initiated, knocking the other woman’s bony knee with her own as an aggressive way to coerce her into the conversation.

“Hey, I’m Betty. I go to school with Veronica,” the blonde introduced herself, her manner impeccable as she inched forward in her seat so she could impress her sister with a full set of her pearly whites showing.

“Nice to meet you, Betty,” Hermosa took Betty’s open palm and gave it a lax shake, “Where are your folks?”

“They couldn’t get out of work in time to make it this morning,” Betty explained with a stiff smile, “They work at the Registers, so it’s an around the clock kind of job.”

That couldn’t be a good sign. If Hal and Alice Cooper weren’t in attendance, they were most likely off chasing a story.

“Any clue as to why we’re all gathered here?” Veronica asked.

Betty shrugged. “No idea. She must have something really important to announce though. I don’t think we’ve ever had to call an emergency meeting before.”

Veronica nodded rigidly, her neck felt like it was straining under the weight of suspense. She was about to compliment Betty on her suede skirt that she didn’t entirely want to bin, but the blonde abruptly smacked her in the face with her mane as she whirled around to wave at an all too familiar redhead. Archie was all friendly smiles until he spotted her next to Betty. Veronica didn’t allow her unceasing indignation to seep into her indifferent façade, instead, she kept her poised and her stare forward. Hell yeah, she was still pissed at Archie. She knew that it wasn’t Archie’s fault that Jughead and her were dunzo – no, that was all Jughead – but his man-baby tantrum did spark a series of miniature catastrophes that led to the eclipse of her freshly formed friendship with Jughead. Veronica assumed that was his father walking a few steps ahead of him and being greeted by a sea of parents. She could tell just from that reception that Fred Andrews was well-loved and well-respected by the people of this town. It was easy to see why the Jones were ostracized if FP indeed almost get Fred killed.

“Quiet, please! Everybody!”

Mayor McCoy was looking rough, and that was putting it nicely. Her dark locks that were typically immaculately blow-dried were tied up in a low chignon and both her dress and blazer were wrinkled. She was the mayor sure, but she certainly didn’t look it today. The room that was buzzing with gay chatters and relaxed greetings just seconds ago fell quiet in one sweep. They all looked to the older McCoy woman keenly in anticipation of her announcement.

“I apologize for having kept you all waiting this morning. I know that an emergency meeting, especially one as short noticed as this one, can be a great inconvenience to many of you, so thank you for making the time,” Mayor McCoy’s voice was steady as she began her speech, but as Veronica’s eyes fell upon the woman’s trembling hand as she tried to keep a firm grip on the wooden podium, it became clear that she was deeply unsettled.

It wasn’t only Veronica who caught sight of the tremor. Hermosa did too and she made it known by scooting closer and whispering, “She’s shaking.”

And she really was because Mayor McCoy could barely get out the next few sentences without stumbling all over herself, never mind the words.

“It is with a heavy heart that I inform you today that Jason Blossom’s case is no longer being treated as a disappearance, but a homicide.”

The crowd erupted into horrified gasps and hushed whispers. Betty and her exchanged a knowing look, except all the blood had drained from her friend’s face and Veronica wondered if it was the same for her too. There was no getting in another word after that and Mayor McCoy knew it too because she gathered herself and exited stage left faster than Sheriff Keller could run onto it.

“Please, everyone, stay seated! There is no need to panic!” the Sheriff bellowed and while the sound echoed throughout the hall, it failed to penetrate the hysteria that had infected the members of Riverdale community, “Please! It’s important that you listen to what myself and the officials have to share in concerns to the safety of this town.”

The crowd fell silent for long enough for the man to speak his piece.

“It has not been easy for us to come to the decision that we should treat the Jason Blossom investigation as a homicide. There is so little evidence to suggest that Jason has been murdered, or even attacked, that we were hesitant to make this move. However, the officials and myself believe that it is crucial that we get to the bottom of this earlier rather than later in the investigative process.”

A woman sprung onto her feet and yelled in delirium. “What evidence are you talking about?”

The sheriff looked stumped by that line of question. “We…we are not prepared to divulge that information today.”

The people fell into their own conversations, some shouting inscrutable complaints at the man and some panicking amongst themselves. It was complete chaos.

“The cat’s out of the bag, Tom. I think it’s better that the town hears it from the sheriff because come tomorrow, the front page of the Register will be making that information available to the public.”

If Betty could have dug a hole for herself and disappeared into it for eternity, Veronica suspected she would have done so at that moment. It turned out that Betty’s parents weren’t busy with work, at least one of them weren’t anyway, because Alice Cooper had bulldozed into the hall and was now taking centre stage with that revelation.

“Alice!” Hal shouted as loudly as his huffing and puffing lungs would allow him to after all the running he undoubtedly did to flag his wife down.

“Oh god,” Veronica heard Betty mumble to herself as she slid further down her chair and covered her burning face with her hands.

Alice Cooper glared at the sheriff impatiently as he hemmed and hawed over what to do next. The rest of the town hall joined her with narrowed eyes and invisible pitchforks in hand. Eventually, the man could take no more and heaved a loaded sigh as he adjusted the mic and looked around the room uncomfortably.

“A few weeks ago, one of the officials came across a shoelace that had traces of Jason Blossom’s blood on it. We strongly believe that it is his, and it came off his shoe on the day of his disappearance.”

A guttural scream ripped through the space and reverberated all the way through Sweetwater. Veronica was oddly comforted to know that the terror-stricken cry was Penelope Blossom’s and not her own.

* * *

School was cancelled for the rest of the day, so Veronica went back to her apartment to study the art of self-restraint. It wasn’t going well, she could tell you that much.

Jughead had called her a sentimentalist. She didn’t see it then – she didn’t now, but it may be worth reconsidering since her current inner turmoil pointed to her being one. Stupidly, Veronica felt it might be a violation of his trust to read up on the Fred Andrews shooting. Ideally, the first time she heard about it would be from his own mouth and in his own words. But since he was so adamant that they were never meant for friendship in the first place, did she even care about his feelings on the matter? She pondered this little conundrum and was immediately irate by her own psyche for screaming ‘yes,’ that she absolutely did care. It was good then that Veronica was never one to follow her heart over her head. Otherwise, she would have never been able to bring herself to hit enter on the search engine.

There were over ten different headlines, some of the reports weren’t even from local sources. That was good, that way she could rule out all Riverdale publications since they were likely bias towards FP and Southsiders in general. She scrolled through the first few results and ultimately settled on a link that took her to a small news site based in Greendale.

There was not one picture of either Fred or FP included on the page, only an outdated photograph of Pop’s Chock’lit Shoppe taken from some distance away. The title of the article got straight to the gritty; “ _Riverdale’s Business Owner Gunned Down by Criminal Gang.”_

So, Fred was shot at Pop’s, Veronica was initially surprised to learn that fact but upon giving it some more thought, she recognised that the timing of the incident aligned perfectly with when Hermosa acquired the business. It said here that the shooting took place roughly about six months ago. She remembered Dilton yapping on about the change in uniform ever since they had to overhaul management. Fred almost getting killed at the diner must have had quite the impact on the revenue, because as far as she could gather, Pop Tate was heading for bankruptcy just three months later. Hermosa must have swept in with an offer he couldn’t refuse as long as she could demolish the basement and turn it into a speakeasy.

Veronica toggled down and took an overdue taste of her oolong tea as she read the next paragraph. Apparently, a man who was identified by witnesses as a member of the ‘Southside Serpents,’ who according to _Greendale’s Daily_ , was “a dangerous gang of criminals that have haunted Riverdale for decades now.” Someone should just go ahead and mark Riverdale down as the crime capital of the U.S.A. – how can a town be so small and still be occupied by so many crooks? The perpetrator claimed that Fred Andrews owed him up to fifty-thousand dollars in drug money. It said here that the Riverdale police department found no “discernible link between Andrews and the Serpents” and had “no doubt whatsoever that an upstanding member of the community like Fred Andrews had zero involvement with the gang itself or its drug operation.” Fortunately, the attempt at Fred’s life wasn’t fatal and he was, at the time that this was written, recovering at the ‘Riverdale General Hospital.’ She had another sip of her tea before diving into the final paragraph that began with ‘UPDATE’ in all caps and bolded. The mention of Forsythe Pendleton Jones the second as the ‘leader of Southside Serpents’ didn’t make her pause, it was the following mention of him as Fred Andrews’ former business partner that did it. Kevin and Betty had brought it up once or twice before that Jughead and Archie grew up together, but they never mentioned how they came to know each other. So that was how they became best friends, Veronica thought with some pity for the broken brotherhood. It also explained how FP was busted for drug trafficking. The article disclosed that the Serpent member eventually came clean to the police and confessed that FP Jones was the one that owed him the money, having failed to breakeven on last month’s supply of narcotics that were set to be distributed across town. The cops raided the Jones’ trailer the next day and found a copious number of drugs there, including coke, jingle jangles, heroin, and marijuana. They arrested FP later that day, having caught him trying to deal to a couple of high school kids at the back of the Twilight Drive-in. Apparently, in his attempt to buy more time to pay off his debt, FP told the Serpent drug lord that he had the funds but it was tied up in Andrews’ construction business. Hence, the gang member went straight to the source and threatened Fred for the money, ensuing in a fight for the weapon where he got two bullets to the shoulder.

Alright, so Archie was right. Intent aside, FP Jones did get Fred Andrews shot and by one of his own too.

Veronica was about to click out of the page when she saw an intriguing hyperlink under the ‘ _You might also be interested in..._ ’ heading.

“Riverdale’s Water Polo Star Saves Life,” she read aloud as her cursor hovered over the link, “The more you know the better, I guess.”

It took her to a different page on the _Greendale Daily’_ s website. The article began with a picture of Jason Blossom, grinning ear to ear and dripping in water as he proudly held up a trophy. The caption under the photograph was the cliched, “ _boy wonder brings victory to Riverdale High_.” Veronica rolled her eyes and skipped pass the photo-op. She didn’t need to see three other gingers, coo over their “boy wonder.” Unlike the other report, this one came with a minute-long video. She clicked play and sat back with her tea.

The clip showed Jason, alive and gorgeous, as he gave the reporters what they wanted.

“Tell us about what happened in that diner.”

The camera panned to “that” diner which happened to be Pop’s. Jason’s red locks were blowing wildly in the wind but he looked perfect as he smiled at the camera and recounted how Fred Andrews, his “fellow Bulldog’s father” was fatally injured by a “Serpent scum” and he happened to be sitting three booths behind them when it all played out. So, of course, he did what every good citizen would do. He suckered punch the “low life” in the face, effectively knocking the lights out of him before picking up a dying Fred in his arms and rushing him to his car so he could drive him to the nearest hospital. The reporters clapped, and a couple of high school students that were about to enter Pop’s stopped to shout loud and proud, “Go Jason!” as they waved to the cameras.

It was all so heroic. Not to mention very sanctimonious of him.

Veronica wasn’t sure why Kevin thought if he kept his tone light and his voice small, people wouldn’t catch onto it. It didn’t work, not with her anyway. He had made a few off-the-cuff comments about Jason’s steroid use and each and every time, she heard it for what it was – the truth. She understood it to be an open secret of some sort that FP was his dealer. Not that she blamed the students of Riverdale High, she wouldn’t want to be caught talking shit about Jason either. Not when Cheryl was always listening.

It was poetic justice in a way. FP Jones was pumping Jason full of dope and in turn, Jason had rescued Fred Andrews from FP’s fatal mistake.

According to the Blossom files that she tucked away under her sink, the Coopers, as well as the Blossoms, didn’t show any sign of being clued in on Jason’s drug use or the fact that FP was selling to him. Although Cheryl did have a slip of the tongue when she told the police that they should check Sunnyside trailer park when they asked where she thought her twin brother might have gone that morning. That in itself told Veronica that she was at least aware of Jason’s drug use. Penelope and Clifford, however, insisted that Jason had woken up earlier than usual to go for “a quick jog.” In their testimonies, they had given the time where their son left the house to be “around six.” Cheryl, however, was firm that he left after eight because she had heard him from the bathroom, trudging down the stairs while she was doing her makeup. According to Cheryl, Jason had never woken up any time before seven in his life. At this point, Veronica felt confident that Cheryl didn’t belong in the suspect pool. She saw the way the bombshell succumbed to the pit of fear when she had cruelly mentioned the likeliness of Jason being dead. It wasn’t the look of a girl who was afraid of getting convicted for her brother’s murder, it was a look of fear that Veronica was correct and she would never get to reunite with her twin ever again. Penelope Blossom was also on the brink of crying herself to an early grave this morning when she heard the news that her son might be dead and not missing. So unless she was secretly an Oscar-nominee, Veronica doubted she had anything to do with it either. Clifford, in complete contrast, was eerily steely as he sat by in silence and didn’t even bother to comfort his sobbing mess of a wife, but grief worked in mysterious ways so who was she to judge? Still, what were the chances that Cheryl’s ears played tricks on her, and Jason did break his routine for an early morning run like their parents claimed?

Veronica sighed tiredly and pulled her glasses off so she could rub at the heavy bags under her eyes. She was really hoping that the discrepancies between Cheryl’s statement to the police and her parents’ would make it irrefutable that the Blossoms had orchestrated their son’s murder. The Blossoms would have had to follow the mandatory blind protocol if they made the arrangement with her father’s operation, which meant all transactions and contacts were exclusively made through a third party that went by a false identity. If the Blossoms had hired her father’s men to off their son, they had no idea who organised the kill. It meant they had zilch on her or her parents. They probably didn’t even know when or how Jason was going to be murdered prior to him going missing. It was going to be a walk in the park with the right dirt on the Blossoms (which she had plenty). That way she could take a leaf from her mysterious blackmailer and anonymously threaten the whole fucking family into taking her place and tasking them with the impossible of making two deaths go away in one sweep.

The plan was simple with the Blossoms being guilty, the problem was that she wasn’t so convinced that any of them were. 

* * *

Veronica was hoping to raid Coach with Josie after school to blow off some steam while also getting the hot goss on her mum’s mayor duty, but unsurprisingly, Hermosa had to ruin it by rostering her at the last minute. For a dark minute there, she considered giving Dilton Doiley a massive smooch to bribe him into taking over her shift.

And so, here she was, wiping up booths that were retired for the rest of the night. Did they even need a waitress on nights like this? No one ever sat in on a Thursday after eight pm anyway. The kids were all at the Bijou to see the latest flick of the week, which meant date night for the parents who took it as their opportunity to dine out somewhere special, expensive – not here. Surely, Pop Tate could manage to cook up all the take-outs (which he regularly did anyway) and pour some coffee for the customers while they waited for their food. Veronica knew that this was probably Hermosa’s own way of torturing her, she just didn’t know why she had the thirst for vengeance. It’s not like she had it much better at this point, not that her sister would know that.

It got to half-past nine when there was a familiar jingle of the bell that made Veronica inwardly groan. N _ot a fucking customer, come on,_ Veronica thought irritably, she had almost gone the whole night without actually having to do her job. She slapped on a smile before she could even finish off a sentence from her mangled-up copy of ‘ _Sentimental Education’_. It was only when she got her head out Flaubert’s poignant ass that she decided to ditch the menu.

He looked every definition of apologetic, she’d give him that.

“Not now, Jones,” she bit out acidly as she stomped off and snatched up a damp cloth along the way, “I’ve got a kitchen to clean up.”

She didn’t. The kitchen top was so fucking shiny from all the Lysol that you could see it from outer space, probably. She was still so angry with him that she’d rather pretend to do chores around the joint than have an actual conversation. _Nearly a whole fucking week_ , she grumbled under her breath, as she sprayed some alcohol onto the spotless bench and huffed in disbelief. Not a word in almost a week, and now he thought he could just waltz into her place of work and all would be forgiven? _Don’t think so_ , Veronica thought as she scrubbed aggressively at the non-existent milk stain. At least Archie made a sad attempt to corner her in the music room two days ago, even if he was swerved by her when she bolted for the next class. Jughead, on the other hand, had almost knocked into her in the school halls, and all he did was look away as if the eye contact had stung.

“Veronica, what are you still doing here?”

Pop Tate ambled over to the sink and squeezed the damp gauze towel dry before slinging it over the order wheel. Veronica peered up at the clock and realized that her shift finished fifteen minutes ago. She’d officially been wasting her time, cleaning a mess that didn’t exist. She wanted so badly to lie and tell Pop that she was finishing up, but she had recently discovered that she hated lying to him. The man was basically the ultimate non-judgemental entity of Riverdale.

“I’m trying to avoid someone,” Veronica confessed, giving up on the rigorous scrubbing.

Pop furrowed his brows. “The Jones boy?”

“Yeah,” she nodded sheepishly, “It’s not exactly the easiest to avoid someone when your job is to ask them if they want a burger and a milkshake to go with.”

The man rumbled with subdued laughter. “You won’t have to do that. He’d been standing outside in the cold for the last twenty minutes."

“But it’s minus five degrees or something outside?”

Pop gave her a knowing look and handed her a pot of lukewarm coffee along with a paper cup. Veronica hesitated but as the man’s lips curled into a fatherly smile, she was swayed to do the right thing. Sighing aloud, she took the pot off his hand but with a grimace as she did so.

“Don’t worry about closing up,” Pop told her as he wandered over to the icebox, “You get going home before it gets too dark outside. It sure is a scary time we’re living in right now.”

It was. He just didn’t know the true extent of it.

Veronica took her coat off the hanger and shrugged it on. She pulled the plaid scarf out of her pocket and wound it around her neck, tucking the ends under the collars before doing them up as well as the rest of the buttons. She stared out the fogged-up windows and paused to make sure the lid to the coffee was tightly shut. She couldn’t make him out in the darkness of the night, she only knew he was still there by the lit end of his cigarette that wavered against the icy wind.

Jughead pushed off the pillar and straightened at the sound of the door opening. The nicotine was stuck between the exhale of his breath, and as Veronica walked up to him, she could feel the cloud of smoke sinking into her pores.

“Pop told me to bring this out to you,” she said without any feeling and shoved the cup into his hand before prancing off.

Veronica heard the frenzy in his steps as he broke into a light jog to catch up to her. She stopped and spun around so abruptly that he nearly ran straight through her. He looked confuddled to see her standing still in front of him, and she arched an imperious brow as she regarded him with cold indifference.

“Can we talk?” Jughead started cautiously, his face grim and his head hung low.

She said nothing, which he rightfully took that as permission to speak.

“I’m sorry,” it tumbled out of him as if someone had shaken the word loose from his chest, “I shouldn’t have lost my head over Archie like that. Especially not to you.”

“That all?”

Jughead gaped at her, perplexity pooling in his blue eyes. She rolled her eyes and began to resume her walk out of the driveway when his hand shot out to grab her elbow.

“How about why, Jughead?” Veronica snapped, and wrenched out of his hold, “Why were you so riled up by the mere thought of Archie sprouting some nonsense about you to me?” she took a step forward, her fingertips just a twitch away from brushing against his, “Why do you care about what he has to say about you when I don’t?”

For a writer, Jughead was lacking in words. He didn’t have the answers for her, and if he did, he was unwilling to supply it. The sound of car alarms and crickets chirping occupied the silence that held out between them. It was starting to make her fidgety. Veronica had half the mind to slap that dumb look of stupefaction off his face. He was staring at her like he couldn’t comprehend a single word of what she just said, and she couldn’t work out what about it was so hard to understand.

In the end, her patience froze over. “You know what? Forget it.”

Veronica was a step away from making a getaway when –

“I care because I care about what you think of me.”

Jughead bound across the pavement and appeared before her before she could think to move. When Veronica met his gaze, she saw that he no longer looked lost. It was the opposite actually, he looked so sure of himself that it was startling. 

“I haven’t had someone I could call a friend for over a year. I don’t even recall the last time I had a conversation that didn’t make me want to saw off my ears, or yell until my throat goes raw so I wouldn’t have to respond,” Jughead paused to swallow down his apprehension of how she would digest what he had to say next, “Then you came along, and it’s easy – even fun – to talk to you. You like the same weird shit that I do, and you have opinions on everything,” he huffed a nervous laugh, “Real opinions – interesting opinions, that I somehow care about. So, my point in all this is, I’m still getting used to the mystifying concept that someone would actually want to be friends with me.”

Veronica nodded, but her resolve had not been fully broken. “As sad as that is, it’s not an excuse for the unwarranted passive-aggressiveness you displayed on Friday night.”

“I’m going to sound like a self-tortured cynic – “

“As you usually do,” she interjected, “But yes, go on, I’m listening.”

“I was afraid that if Archie told you things about me that I wasn’t ready to share with you, you wouldn’t want anything to do with me,” he gazed down at her like he was pleading with her to take a good, long look at him and see him for who he really was, “I wanted to keep being your friend, and I didn’t know how long I had until you wouldn’t want to anymore.”

Veronica smiled, not because she had forgiven him. She smiled because if there was one thing she was certain about, it was that they were going to be just fine.

“I think you’re severely underestimating how much time you have with me, Jones.”

Jughead scoffed in amusement at her teasing and slicked his mussed curls back with his hand. “You might want to save that for after you hear about all the lives my old man has ruined in this town.”

She shook her head resolutely. “It won’t make a difference to me.”

“Veronica, what they say about my dad,” the burst of relief that shone in Jughead’s eyes moments ago dimmed as he broached the topic, “It’s all true. He did push drugs onto high schoolers, he did get Fred Andrews shot, he did lead a gang – he did all those things. And sometimes – ” she could see it in the pained expression on his face that the shame was eating at him, “Sometimes I wonder what that means for me.”

“Nothing,” Veronica told him with an obstinate determination, “It means he’s your dad. That’s all it means.”

This didn’t seem to fully out Jughead’s mind at rest, but he didn’t completely reject the idea either and that was good enough for her in the time being. He’ll believe her someday _,_ Veronica thought as she looked into the storm that was brewing in his restless eyes. His father’s mistakes won’t define him. No, Jughead would be defined by all the things his father couldn’t be.

“How come you have a justification ready to go for all your points?” Jughead asked with a chuckle, his demeanour much lighter now, “Are you just prepared to argue at all the times?”

“Of course,” she smirked, “Are you not?”

“Hey, you kids want to move off the road?”

Jughead squinted at the blinding lights and Veronica held up a hand to shield herself from it. The two of them obligingly fell back onto the footpath and watched as the car slowly pulled up to the curb, stopping right next to them.

“Hi, Jug. How are you doing?” the brown-haired man greeted out the car window, his eyes soft and his smile softer, “Sorry if I scared your kids back there. I was just trying to play a little joke on you guys.”

“Not at all, Mister A,” Jughead reassured with a smile of his own, “You picking up dinner?”

“Yeah, Archie said he’s too tired to cook, again. Could you believe how lazy he is?” the man threw up his arm in flippant exasperation and rolled his eyes

Jughead chuckled awkwardly. “Yeah, that does sound like Arch.”

Fred nodded like he couldn’t agree more. Then his humble gaze shifted over to Veronica and the corner of his thin lips pulled into a gentler smile if that was possible. “Hey, Jug, who’s your new friend here?”

The dark-haired boy blinked, looking very much addled by the man’s question. It must have processed a split second later because he turned to look at Veronica as if he just had a breakthrough.

“Oh, right,” Jughead scratched the back of his head self-consciously, “This is Veronica. She’s new in town. She goes to school with Arch and me, and well, basically the rest of the kids from your neighbourhood.”

Recognition shone in Fred’s brown eyes as he studied her “Of course, you’re Veronica. I’ve heard a lot about you from my son.”

She cocked an eyebrow, a smug smile threatening to take over her face. “He has?”

“Ah, my son’s always telling me I say too much,” Fred playfully threw his fist down on the dashboard of his truck and laughed, “You guys do me a favour and hurry home. After the announcement this morning, I get worried at the thought of you kids walking around at nights.”

Jughead gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Will do, Mister A.”

“Good,” the man eased his foot off the brake and as the engine propelled forward, he waved them goodnight, “Get home safe you two!”

Veronica knew from the moment that Fred Andrews rolled down the window that she recognised that face from somewhere. He looked exactly the same as he did in the pictures she found on her google search, only maybe a touch more fatherly up closer, and a little less of a resemblance to Archie.

“So…” Jughead began, both hands buried deep in his jacket pockets as he looked up from the cobbled ground and sneaked a timid glance at her, “Do you think we can be friends again?”

“I’ll need the rest of the night to mull it over,” she rallied, “I’d say your chances are good though.”

“Will you at least let me give you a lift home?” Jughead asked as if it was her that would be doing him a solid by agreeing, “For all we know, there’s a killer on the loose.”

Veronica wished she could tell him that more than one killer was running rampant in Riverdale.

“Sure, but only if you brought the bike.”

* * *

That was a good way to end an otherwise shit show of a day, was what Veronica thought when she strolled through the rustic doors of the Pembrooke.

Jughead was back in her corner, which meant it wasn’t long now until she could dip her toes into the Southside pools and find out what she needed undo whatever it is that she was supposed to. She tried not to think about the fallout if, or when Jughead discovered that their friendship wasn’t all pleasant coincidences and mutual idiosyncrasies in all modes of art. She slept better not knowing how it’s going to end between the two of them.

“Miss Lodge”

Her steps faltered by the reception desk. “Yes?”

The girl, much younger than Gina and much tanner, smiled and held her gaze with her own doe-eyed ones as she held out a thin envelope to her. “This was left for you.”

Veronica took it off her hands and muttered a quick ‘thank you.’ She turned the envelope over and only saw her full name printed out in the right top corner of the letter. There was no returning address, not even the name of the sender. There was no stamp either, which told Veronica that this must have been hand-delivered.

“Do you know who left this for me?” Veronica asked, trying her luck.

“No idea, to be honest,” the mousy blonde shrugged, “It was left on the desk when I got here for my shift. Sorry that I’m no help.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Veronica told the other girl and it was the truth, it was her that should be doing all the worrying.

She bustled into the elevator and punched in her floor number, then quickly followed that with a swift jab at the ‘close door’ button. The ride up to her apartment made her reconsider the extent of her claustrophobia, because not only did it feel like the walls were closing in on her but her throat was also following suit. She was itching to undo the knot her scarf and at least the first few buttons of her coats, but she was more than certain that Hermosa had security cameras installed in all the elevators. She didn’t think it wise to make any panicked movements under the watchful eye of the woman that was slowly but surely becoming the bane of her existence. When the elevator finally dinged, Veronica practically raced out the sliding doors with her keys already in hand. She tried not to fumble as she twisted the knob around and forced the door open with the rigid edge of her shoulder.

She knew how crazed she must have looked if anyone was to see her at that moment – silky waves flying everywhere, scarf sliding halfway off her neck, wool coat falling down one arm and the sleeve bunched up on the other as she tried to tear the envelop open with as much delicacy as she could muster.

Veronica remembered once, when she was still small enough to fit into the dishwasher during a game of hide and seek, how her mother had found her and pulled her out by the ears. Hermione had stroked her unruly curls afterwards and told her how much she looked like a delicate little girl, how it was the perfect charade to the vile monster that was waiting to tear through her. That was the day Veronica stopped looking for monsters under her bed. She wasn’t afraid anymore, she knew she had a great, big mirror to look into if she was looking for demons.

And because every little girl had to grow up someday, Veronica learned the hard way that she was of a different league than the monster that was stalking her like its prey.

She stared down at the polaroid of a bloodied shoelace on her marbled floor. It was odd how the foyer of this place had always felt like it was stained with blood – her blood, Jason’s blood, the blood her father had taken. She dared herself to peek into the hole she’d ripped into the letter and carefully pulled out a cracked lens that once belonged to a pair of glasses. There was a folded note sticky-taped to the concave of it, she flipped the paper open with the tip of her index finger and her sight blurred at the very first word.

“ _I got one of yours and now you've got one of mine_.”

* * *

“About Daniel Montana – ”

Veronica jumped at the mention of that name and accidentally got too heavy-handed with getting her locker to stay closed. The door swung shut to reveal Jughead on the other side of it. He cringed at the unexpected ‘bang’ and appraised her with a quizzical quirk of the brow.

“You scared me,” she excused with quickness.

“As I was saying,” Jughead drawled and pushed off the wall of lockers he’d been leaning his weight on, “Daniel Montana – he did hang around for a week or two on the south side, mostly at the Whyte Wyrm. What he didn’t do was work for someone on that side of town.”

“What’s the Whyte Wyrm?

“It’s a bar on the south side,” he explained, “Also the self-anointed hangout of the Serpents. The business barely gets a customer they haven’t seen before, so he sure had the attention of the locals when he walked in.”

Veronica gnawed at the fresh coat of her lipstick. “You’re certain that he never worked for any of the locals?”

Jughead shook his head ‘no’ without an ounce of uncertainty. “If he had, I would have gotten word of it. The south is ninety-nine- point nine percent made up of Serpents. My point is they don’t hire anyone that’s not their own kind.”

“You’re the point one percent and you’re hired over there,” she argued.

“And to this day, it’s the only good thing to come out of my dad’s status as king of the snake pits.”

“Right,” Veronica nodded curtly, “Any chance you know what Montana was doing on the south side?”

He shrugged. “From the sounds of it, I’d say he was just passing through. We get them occasionally.”

She was about to ask Jughead if Montana had ever spoken to someone, a bartender at the Wyte Wyrm maybe, but she thought she’d better save it for when Betty wasn’t lingering around in the backdrop.

“Hey, V,” Betty smiled tightly as she mustered up the courage to approach, “Hey, Jug.”

“Hey, Betts,” he greeted with a wee more warmth than he did the last time he saw the blonde, then turned back to Veronica and said, “I’ve got to start making my way over to Honey’s office. Apparently, he wants to talk to me about my essay submission before class. See you at lunch?”

Betty’s eyes bounced between Veronica and Jughead uneasily as she observed their interaction with interest. If she was being honest herself, she wasn’t entirely expecting that either. Two weeks ago, he wouldn’t even speak to her if they were standing next to each other in the canteen line. 

“See you at lunch,” Veronica affirmed and sent him off with a faint smile as she watched him disappear down the corridor and into the plethora of students.

“I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that you two are friends, and you guys hang out and everything,” Betty began to ramble as the two of them headed for first period, “It honestly feels like I’m living in the fourth dimension just to see you guys converse.”

She snorted. If Betty felt like she was in the fourth dimension, then Veronica _must_ be living in it.

“You don’t have an issue with that, right?” Veronica asked, throwing her friend a side-long glance.

“No, of course, not,” Betty told her earnestly, “I just wished Archie didn’t as well.”

“Boys,” she remarked drolly with a tilt of the head, “You know how they’re like.”

“Petty and stupid?”

“You know it, B,” Veronica seconded with a wink. 

Betty was caught between giggling and grinning when Cheryl Blossom barraged down the hall, pushing two sophomores out of the way in her tirade.

“There we go,” Veronica muttered with a sigh and shot the blonde a knowing look.

“Morning, Cheryl,” Betty groaned with a roll of her green eyes.

“Morning, rejects” the bombshell greeted snidely as she snatched the clipboard out of one of her minion’s grip, “I see here that you have yet to cross your name off the try-out list.”

“Can’t you do that yourself?”

“Yes, mini Polly, I could, and nothing would please me more,” Cheryl seethed, then turned sharply to Veronica as she jammed her crimson acrylic down on the paper, “Except her fallen highness over here has decided to put her name down next to yours. See what it says here,” the red-head heedlessly threw the board at Betty who barely managed to catch it with her arms full of textbooks, “Betty Cooper and Veronica Lodge. What is this, a fucking double act?”

Betty squinted down at the ‘V. Lodge’ scrawled beside her own name, and then at Veronica herself. “V? What’s the meaning of this?”

“It means, Bettykins,” Veronica smirked as she took Betty by the hand and interlaced their fingers, “You and I are going to be River Vixens by the end of next week.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly really struggled to produce this chapter to my satisfaction. That's why I took a little bit more time than usual to update. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. It's not as Jeronica-centric as the last two chapters for sure, but it's going to be a lot of Jughead and Veronica interactions and development from here on. 
> 
> As always, THANK YOU SO, SO MUCH for all the support. All the kudos and the comments you guys leave each chapter is highly appreciated. It reminds me that I'm on the right track and that this fic is heading towards the direction I wanted it to. If there's anything that's confusing you plot-wise or even characterisation, please, please do not hesitate to leave me a comment about it. I appreciate constructive criticisms because, without them, I can't improve and I really want to make sure that I can write this fic to the best of my ability x

Veronica didn’t set out to piss Cheryl off, not really, but sometimes when you want to destroy a bitch, you’ve got to take everything she’d ever loved and set it on fire.

There were rules about taking down the HBIC of your school. Since this wasn’t a Hollywood production, you didn’t just waltz up to her majesty, douse her in some nasty flavoured Slurpee and expect to get away with it. No, you start by cutting her down a size.

She didn’t even know what Betty was worried for. All the girls who had gone before and after them had been mediocre at best. They were uninspired, uninventive, and unenergetic. Back at Spence, the three ‘U’s were deadly. It meant you were the _big_ ‘U’ – useless. Cheryl must have been just as bored as she was from watching all the auditions because the dictator was more interested in her phone screen than the actual girls who were making a show of kicking up their legs and shaking their asses.

“Next!” the bombshell shrieked like a hyena in the heat.

“But,” the mousy brunette sobbed in humiliation, “I haven’t finished my routine.”

“I know,” Cheryl said in a clipped tone as she scrunched up the girl’s audition form and threw it in the reject pile a.k.a. the trashcan, “Your routine is a health hazard. I don’t want any of my girls to get kneed in the jaw. Like I said, next!”

“Geeze, Cheryl is really coming down hard on them,” Betty whispered beside her as they watched the next girl stretch out on the mat, “At least she didn’t cut us off mid-routine.”

“It _is_ Cheryl,” Veronica replied pointedly, and put a firm hand on the blonde’s bouncing knee, “Seriously, stop worrying. We nailed it, just like we practiced during one of our sessions.”

“ _One of our sessions,_ ” as Veronica referred to, was the total sum of their weekend. Saturday and Sunday were spent cooped up at the Cooper’s, rehearsing a routine so simple that it should only take the morning of one of those days. However, Betty gave herself a case of anxiety and perfectionism, and so both days were dedicated to making sure that they were hitting the steps when it needed to be hit and giving each other the case of premature ageing with the number of fake smiles that had to be put on. Surprisingly, Veronica didn’t totally hate being subjected to spending the entire weekend with Betty, and Betty alone. Neither of her parents was home for the weekend, having taken a trip out of town to chase a story about some cult called ‘ _The Farm_.’ Betty took full advantage of that and had Veronica over for a harmless sleepover. At night, they watched nineties chick flicks and talked typical ‘girl’s stuff, and in the morning, they drank sweet tea and ate high-calories cereals that Alice forbid Betty from ever touching. In between practicing in the Cooper’s garage, Betty allowed Veronica to help her get rid of a few (or many) things in her closet. Good riddance of granny’s sweaters.

Betty somehow went the entirety of two days and nights without making any mentions of Archie, except for that one time. And when she did, boy did it become a conversation. The blonde floundered about the subject for a half an hour, alluding to the quickness in which Archie and she struck up a friendship, and the way he “seems to grin like an idiot” whenever she was around. But what really did it for Veronica was when Betty told her that “Archie never looked at me like the way he does at you.” While it was true, it was misconstrued by sweet, little Betty who apparently couldn’t tell lust from love. Veronica had been valiant in her honesty when she vowed to Betty that she would not touch Archie with a ten-foot pole. (“Look, B, I solemnly swear that he’s all yours and none of mine. He’s just simply not for me, and I’m not for him.”) To say Betty looked relieved to hear of Veronica’s lack of romantic interest in Archie was an understatement. She practically tackled her in a bear hug. It was true, he thought she was hot, and she thought he was hot too – that was it. Sexual chemistry wasn’t just cause for a committed relationship. Plus, getting mailed a piece of possible murder evidence had been sobering. It only reaffirmed that it was the right call to stave off boys whilst in Riverdale; she didn’t have time to deal with stupidity or the drama amid a double homicide.

Guess Betty was right, and the hours of practice really did pay off in the end. She could practically smell the stink of intimidation and jealously float of Cheryl when they finished cheering ‘Go Bulldogs!” She could tell the rest of the Vixens were impressed. Not that it was a difficult feat in the first place, Riverdale locals were often wowed by all sorts of basic stints common to the outside world. She was confident that they made the team, the competition was scarce and Betty spiced it up with a swipe of bold lipstick that made even Cheryl’s eyes twitched.

“Veronica,” Cheryl barked, her gaze skimming over the clipboard, “In!”

Veronica smirked and patted Betty’s thigh patronizingly, “Told you, we’d get in.”

“Betty,” a sly smile wrinkled her painted lips as she looked up from the list and at the blonde, “Out”

The gym went quiet, and the only sound that echoed was the dribbling of the basketball from the adjacent court. Veronica thought she must have heard wrong, it didn’t make sense that only one of them would make Vixens or that it would be her. She felt rage boiling up inside her as the orange rubber sphere rolled listlessly down the polished floor of the gymnasium and smacked Betty in the foot. She didn’t even want to do the goddamn tryout in the first place, she didn’t even want to be on the team, she only did it to prove her point - to prove that she would always get her way, and her way included Betty. Veronica jumped up onto her feet and snatched the basketball off the ground, swung with full force at Cheryl.

“Veronica!” Midge screeched in horror as the ball collided with Cheryl’s turned back, “Shit!”

“Cheryl! Oh my god! A – are you ok?” one of the brainless minions ran over to tend to her queen as the ball rebounded and nearly hit her in the nose.

Cheryl spun around like a tornado that was threatening to devour anyone and anything that was in her path as she stormed over to Veronica. She picked up the basketball that was idly bouncing the floor and aimed for Veronica’s face, but she slapped it away before it could smash into the contour of her cheeks. This had Cheryl fuming even more as she trampled pass Betty, who was the only still sitting, too dumbstruck to do anything about the injustice of her situation. Veronica was not usually one to fight other’s battles, but Cheryl was giving her the perfect excuse to smack a bitch.

“Did you do what I think you just did?”

“Well, did you feel a bruising sensation not dissimilar to getting struck in a game of dodgeball? If so, yes,” Veronica snapped, her shoulders curled back like a wild cat, “Why isn’t Betty in?”

“Because she’s out,” Cheryl proclaimed, then shot Betty a supercilious sneer, “And she’ll always be out in my books. So give up the good fight, Blue Jasmine.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

The peak of Cheryl’s groomed brows made sharp angles against her forehead. “You’re welcomed to challenge me, Veronica,” the bombshell taunted, her eyes glimmering with mischief and tyranny, “But you’ll lose.”

“Bite me, Cheryl,” Veronica batted her mascara covered eyelashes at the bombshell innocently before giving her shoulder a careless shove and making her way over to the speaker, “Are we doing this or not?”

“Fine,” Cheryl bit back, slicking her flaming curls over to one side, “What are the terms and conditions?”

“Everyone here gets a vote, excluding you and I, obviously,” she smirked, “If I win, I get captain.”

“And if you lose, basic Barbie here has to hook me up with Archie.”

Veronica looked to Betty for an opinion on the matter, but the blonde looked to be in a deep stupor. Her face was gnawed white by the nerves and her claw-like hands were clenched into painfully tight fists. Veronica observed as the nails that Betty had carefully buffed into perfectly square edges delve into her palm so acutely that the skin split open. Droplets of blood glossed over her baby pink manicures in a grotesque sight, and still, Betty was numb. She could see the blonde’s regal throat throb visibly but somehow, it was hardly pulsating at all. Betty was like a dead woman who was still determined to keep breathing.

“This is between you and me,” Veronica countered evenly, “So whatever it is that you want you’re going to have to get it from me.”

She knew Archie was a sacred situation to Betty, she doubted her friend would allow her to put him at stake. The price was too high.

“Fine. If you lose, I get your sweet ride.”

Personally, she would rather give Archie away than a vintage Chevelle. It was an easy decision – one was priceless and one could be found in every small town’s football team. Unfortunately, she wasn’t the only one to consider here. Betty so owed her one, Veronica groaned inwardly as she rolled her eyes and muttered a terse ‘deal.’ Cheryl smiled a cocky one as she clicked her fingers at the iPod, urging Veronica to pick a background song to destroy her to. _Stupid, stupid girl_ , Veronica thought as she clicked on the first song on the playlist, she could beat Cheryl and do her nails at the same time but the bitch was too self-deluded to see what was coming.

The pounding bass reverberated through the clumsy wood flooring beneath their feet. Veronica nodded to the beat and broke into a lofty grin. This was just unfair now. It was a club classic and she’d spent enough sleepless on the dance floor that it was second nature for her body to move to it.

“The floor’s yours, Lodge,” Cheryl urged haughtily.

Veronica counted herself in and started a with simple jump landing that was sharp enough to get the attention of the ladies who’d be giving her their votes. She caught Cheryl’s condescending smirk through her peripheral, and shook it off with a snap of her hips. She focused on the rhythm and dropped when the beat did, coming back up for a basic pirouette followed by another seductive roll of her hips. She was about to transition into a more traditional cheer move when Cheryl took over by twisting her body into all sorts of ridiculous waves and slid onto the floor in a half split. The bombshell threw her head back in an exaggerated hair flip as she pushed herself up by the knees and might as well have been humping the floor with the way her ass was wiggling. Veronica strutted to the tune of the music, and broke into the same exact move she predicted Cheryl would. Veronica smirked and threw her arm up and around while twisting around in a circle to box Cheryl out. The HBIC must have been feeling the fire because she was starting to rush her steps. She followed that with another drop, smaller this time but more powerful as she stood back up and did a swift spin, leading her into a finishing pose worthy of a cheer champ. Veronica held her form and blew the loose strand of her hair out of her face. She could feel the adrenaline pumping through her veins, which was funny because her heart was barely racing from that little dish known as revenge that she just served to Cheryl and co. 

Betty, who must have shaken awake at some stage of the dance-off because she was standing amongst the Vixens. The blonde was beaming at her like a proud mother; it painted a picture uncanny to the one of Alice Cooper in her graduation robe. She had seen the framed photograph sitting on Hal’s desk at ‘ _The Register._ ’ Veronica had never seen a woman look so hollow under a shell of pure happiness. She wondered if that was what she’d find on the inside if she cut Betty open; an emptiness that one could get lost in. 

Betty stepped away from the group and addressed the room, “All those for Cheryl?”

Cheryl’s face tightened sharply at the resounding silence. The people have spoken, and the people did not want her.

The blonde could barely contain the glee in her voice when she asked the rhetorical, “All those for Veronica?”

The girls gave her a round of applause, cheering for their new leader to lead them into a better routine and higher daily calorie intake. Betty grinned ear to ear as she skipped over to her, and nuzzled her shoulder like a clingy puppy.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you just did that,” the blonde squealed, “And I can’t believe you’re now cheer captain!”

Speaking of cheer captains, Cheryl had backed herself into the corner so she could have a private moment to sulk. Veronica supposed she’d be a downer too if she lost to a newcomer. Still, there was a jerky look in Cheryl’s eyes that didn’t sit too well with her. She never trusted anyone with that look in their eyes; it made for erratic human behaviour.

“Cheryl!”

The bombshell spun around and for a second there, Veronica could have sworn she saw a glittering tear in the corner of her brown eyes. It was an undignified move, crying in front of your subjects. 

“Girls, give me a moment,” Veronica told the squad and ran over to the redhead.

“What? Haven’t you done enough damage for the day?”

“Cheryl,” she started, “I don’t want to be captain.”

The girl needled her with a look made up of equal parts spite and puzzlement.

“I only threw my hat into the ring to prove that I’m better than you are,” Veronica levelled with her, “I don’t want to lead a bunch of undisciplined teenage girls just so they could shout nursery rhymes at school events. That’s a lot of work for frankly, not enough of a payout.”

“Okay, so what are you proposing?” Cheryl asked thickly and folded her arms over her chest defensively.

“I’ll give you back your captaincy,” she watched as the bombshell’s eyes lit up at the chance to continue her reign, “If, and only if you promise to lay off Betty and I. That includes letting Betty join the team. You saw her kill it with her routine, you know as well as I do that she’d make a good a Vixen.”

Cheryl didn’t need even need to think about that one. “Fine, but don’t expect me to put her at the front.”

“I’ll also need you to leave Jughead alone,” she added, “I know how you like to put the football team, and the swim team, and the basketball team up to it.”

Cheryl brown eyes ate Veronica with a distillation of disgust. “You deserve to be stoned by the people of this town for associating with that vermin. Jay-Jay made it his business to put that south side garbage in his place. I fully intend to continue his good work and see to it that Forsythe suffers every minute of every day that he’s at Riverdale High.”

She thought this might happen. Why did all the Blossoms (and Coopers) have to be such pesky little things?

Veronica licked her lips, moistening it as it split into a sly grin. “Then I better make it my business to spread the words on the incest that goes on in your family.”

Cheryl scoffed. “Get with the program, you dumb cow. That rumour has been surfacing since Jason and I came out of the womb, no one cares.”

“I’m not talking about you and Jason. I’m talking about Jason and Polly.”

Her eyes whitened. Then they darkened until they seemed to be all pupil. Her nostrils looked pinched as she tossed her head angrily. “You open your big fat mouth about that and I’ll come for you so hard that you’d wish you were the one going to Shawshank instead of your scamming father, you understand me?”

“That’s right, Cheryl, my family and I are a bunch of dirty criminals so you better watch your back. We know things about you and your family that will make TMZ look like a fucking joke. So you better make sure I keep my big, fat, mouth shut,” Veronica sneered and shoulder-checked the redheaded girl as she pushed past her.

She really needed to get a better handle on her anger issues. At this point, she was bound to explode and when she did, there would be pieces of Riverdale’s dirty little secrets splatted all over the walls.

“Ladies, it seems like the power has been restored to its rightful owner. Veronica here and I have struck a deal, so that means I’ll remain captain and all of you,” Cheryl smiled bitingly as she announced from the bleachers, “will remain my underlings.”

Betty looked aghast at the news.

“Don’t look so sad, Betty,” Cheryl directly addressed her, “You’ll still have a place with my squad. Your BFFL saw to that.”

Veronica and Cheryl exchanged a mutual look of hatred as the bombshell told the bitches to shoo and stalked out of the gym in a hissy fit.

“V,” Betty scurried over to her, frown lines etching into her forehead, “Why would you give Cheryl the chance to be captain again?”

“Trust me, B, it’s better this way,” Veronica said obscurely as the group groaned in disappointment and dispersed, “What’s really important here is that Cheryl will be leaving us alone from now on.”

“Is that the deal? She leaves us alone and she gets to be captain again?”

Veronica nodded and gazed at Betty empathetically as she reached out to tuck a wiry curl behind her ear. “Come on, B, this isn’t the time to mope. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To be a cheerleader?”

“You’re right,” Betty conceded and mustered up a small smile, “Just so you know, I think you would have made a really great leader, V.”

 _She would have_ , Veronica agreed and forced herself to return a bittersweet smile. “Thanks, B.”

“No, thank _you._ I couldn’t have done this without you,” Betty said earnestly as she pulled her into a quick hug that she wasn’t ready for but went along with anyway, “I wish we could celebrate, but I’ve got dinner plans with my parents. They’ll be home any minute now.”

She cringed internally at the fact that such a minor accomplishment was supposed to be worth celebrating in this town.

“Don’t sweat it, B. We’ll celebrate later this week.”

“We’ll have to!” Betty echoed enthusiastically as she crouched down to fetch her bag and water bottle. She pulled out her phone and Veronica saw the screen light up with too many text messages to count.

“Miss Popular over here,” Veronica teased but was immediately hushed by Betty’s unflattering reaction.

“I’ve got to run,” the blonde blanched as she slung the bag over her shoulder and started to sprint off, “I’ll see you tomorrow, V. Bye!”

 _What is up with that goddamn family?_ Veronica mumbled under her breath as she gathered up her own things. She waved goodbye to a few senior Vixens and got into a brief chit-chat with Midge, who thought she “absolutely stomped on Cheryl” with her impromptu routine before sneaking out the backdoor. She felt the cool breeze hit her in the face and immediately was aware of how underdressed she was. She probably should have changed into something more seasonal before heading out, Veronica thought to herself as she glanced down at her bare legs that were now dotted with goosebumps.

“Here,” she heard from the bottom of the steps as a heavy jacket landed over her head and cloaked her vision, “I suggest you put it on unless you want to catch a case of hypothermia.”

He was sitting at the bottom of the stairs with a damp curl hanging over his eye. His back was resting against the rusty railing and he had one leg folded up on the step he was sitting on, and one dangling off its edge. The brick-like laptop was whirring noisily on his lap and she thought that was probably why he hadn’t frozen over; the goddamn thing may as well be a radiator with the way it was spitting heat. He was smoking again, she knew he often did whenever he was alone. He looked deep in thought as he puffed a plume of smoke and watched the cursor flutter on the screen.

“It’s just so wonderful that I can always count on you to look out for me, Forsythe,” Veronica remarked sardonically as she pulled the leather off her face.

“We spoke about this. I don’t like it when you call me that.”

“I know,” Veronica sighed dramatically and hopped down a step so she was standing right behind him, “But you make it way too fun for me to stop.”

She bent her back just enough to get a closer look at the word doc he was working one – two hundred and fifty was marked at the bottom right corner of the half-empty page. The last time she saw him writing on that archaic Macbook, he must have only been up to hundred-something pages.

Jughead turned his head over his shoulder and arched a brow. “Do you mind?"

“I don’t, but it seems that you do,” she quipped and pushed her arms through the sleeves of his bulky jacket, “You’ve been writing a lot.”

“A lot of new information has surfaced since Jason’s case has been ruled a homicide. Which means, a lot more material for me to be inspired by,” Jughead muttered absentmindedly as he went back to typing.

Veronica nodded, her throat tight and scratchy. The police department had been working tirelessly to recover the remains of Jason Blossom, but it was a fruitless endeavour. They didn’t know that, but she did. Someone already got to his lifeless body first. The thought of his corpse, in pieces, and kept chilled in someone’s neighbour’s icebox shook her awake most nights.

“How’d it go?”

She blinked down at him. “Can’t I just tell you on the way to Pop’s?”

Jughead shot her a look that screamed ‘no way.’ “After you made me wait out in the cold for you?”

“I didn’t tell you to wait out here,” Veronica argued as she shivered, “You could have waited in the library. You know like normal people who are trying to get some work done?”

“The library at this school is not exactly this safe haven for intellectuals that you think it is, Veronica,” he bickered as he clicked ‘save’ on the menu bar, “It can be difficult to focus when other students are using the bookcases to shield dalliances from prying eyes.”

“Only if you choose to watch,” she insisted, then a rather naughty thought came to her and made her burgundy lips fold into a Chesire-like grin, “Jughead Jones, a voyeur.”

Jughead glared at her as she burst into a fit of laughter.

“Just tell me?”

“My voyeuristic friend,” Veronica began in an imposing voice and it made him roll his eyes, “You are now looking at a proud member of River Vixens – well,” she gave a blasé shrug, “Somewhat proud anyway.”

He chuckled as he nudged the lid of his laptop shut. There was a tender smile that didn’t get the chance to bloom because his lips went back against his teeth.

“Told you, you’d be a good fit.”

“I am, but not Betty, apparently.”

Jughead regarded her with a quizzical look as he got onto his feet.

“I got her there in the end,” Veronica said negligently, “I’ll explain once I get some food in me. The sizable pit in my stomach is probably the same as the one you carry around with you on an everyday basis, Jones.”

“Then hand over the key. I learned my lesson letting you drive the other day on an empty stomach.”

“It wasn’t even that bad,” she insisted despite tossing the key at him before popping the trunk open and dumping her belongings in there.

Jughead caught it with ease and reproached her with a knowing look. “You nearly rear-ended a truck, Veronica.”

“Nearly is the key-word, Torombolo.”

* * *

Pop’s was moderately busy when they got there, which meant they managed to secure the last booth to themselves. Veronica found that she loved dining in at the diner, even more so now that she worked there almost every other night. It felt like a special treat to not have to serve up burgers and fries, and instead sit by and be served instead. Pop Tate walked over to them with a bright smile on his face and asked if he could take their orders. Jughead was about done listing out his gigantic meal plan when a sophomore walked by their table and stopped to congratulate Veronica on making the cheer squad. _News sure travels fast in a small town_ , she thought to herself as she put on a genial smile and thanked the girl so she’d leave them alone. Pop was so excited to hear this that he insisted that her dinner was on him. Veronica tried to argue her way out of his generous offer but to no avail. Jughead later had to bully her into “take the free meal” just so she would stop with the nobility. Once she did shut up, Jughead immediately got into his ramble over some Bret Easton Ellis novel he recently finished, and Veronica was itching to tell him that she detested Ellis on a personal and artistic level. She didn’t though; he looked too content ranting to her about the “complex” characters that were actually just a bunch of rich assholes. The truth was that Jughead wasn’t a very happy person in general. Over the last week, she’d spent every other lunch period and the majority of her afterschool hours with him. He was often irritated or brooding, or argumentative, or downright pissed over something he would refuse to tell her about. Some nights he’d show up right before closing time and consume too much coffee so he could be haunted by his thoughts until the sun came up. He would sit by and watch her clean dishes, wipe tables, or mosey around the counter in general. Sometimes he would feel like chatting, and sometimes he’d say nothing and expect her to do all the talking. Still, Veronica preferred having Jughead than not. He was deeply insightful, sharp as a whip, and too observant for his own. It was a dangerous combination for a high school boy who put everything he knew about this town down on a paper.

“Honestly, Jughead, how you feel about Roth’s work is how I feel about Ellis’ work,” Veronica confessed as she took a languid sip of her chocolate shake, “American Psycho is so redundant. Thank God, the movie adaptation had a better screenplay.”

“If American Psycho is redundant, then what do you call ‘Gone with The Wind’?”

“An epic war romance that every American should read?” Veronica was appalled that he would even dare question such a historic piece of literature, “Scarlett O’Hara is a feminist icon. Unlike most of Ellis’ characters who are just caricatures of rich kids he probably snorted coke with in the bathroom that one time.”

“Oh, fiddle-dee-dee!” Jughead remarked dryly and stuffed his mouth with a handful of crinkle-cut fries, “I’d rather read Ellis write about a bad drug trip than read fifty pages about how glorious and noble the great Ashley Wilkes is.”

“Ok fine, Ashley is a snoozefest. Even I can’t deny that,” she agreed and raised her glass, which Jughead was more than happy to reciprocate with by clinking it with his own shake.

Veronica hummed in the middle of her bite of the cheeseburger, suddenly remembering that she had yet to tell him about the whole try-out debacle. She was mid-swallow when her throat jammed as she caught the smear-like reflection off the napkin dispenser. The Ford truck was Archie’s; she rode it in that one time he gave her a lift home after school. She watched him park on the far end of the lot. A golden ponytail swung out the door a second later. It was Betty, now back in her sweater, jeans, and white Converse outfit as she stepped out. The blonde looked morose as Archie circled over to her and gripped her frail shoulders with his sturdy hands then shook, hard. Betty looked catatonic, nothing like the ball of sunshine she was when Veronica last saw her. Archie didn’t look too good either. He was usually so fresh-faced, but through the foggy window of Pop’s, he looked ashen and contorted, much like a Munch painting. Veronica smudged her thumb over the thin layer of condensation and squinted through the clean spot. The two of them appeared to be engaged in a heated but hushed quarrel and were now walking up to the entry.

“Jug, I think we might be in for an awkward run-in.”

A nonplussed look crossed over his face, but it faded to nothing once saw Archie and Betty ducked through the door. Betty spotted them a little after they did. Her green orbs ping-ponged between all three of them like she didn’t know what to do with the situation, or herself. Jughead had taken a different approach to his two ex-friends and was determined to stay unaffected as he polished off his dinner.

“Jug,” she tried again, her voice much lower this time because the duo was now walking towards them, “They’re making their way over here.”

Jughead was seemingly more concerned about finishing off the last of his chicken burger than the two people that were currently standing by their table. Betty said “hello” to the both of them in a thin, brittle voice. Archie was stoic as ever as he stood by Betty, his eyes darting everywhere like he was unsure of where to look. Unable to take any more of the choking silence, Betty took it upon herself to elbow Archie on his side to remind him of basic manners.

“Hey, Ronnie,” Archie greeted begrudgingly and would have left it at that if Betty didn’t start glaring daggers at him, “You too, Jughead.”

“Hey, guys!” Veronica slapped on a cordial smile after she realised that Jughead wasn’t going to play pretend, “What are you two doing here? B, I thought you said you had dinner plans with your parents for their first night back home.”

“Yeah…that kind of fell through at the last minute,” Betty replied dubiously, then cautiously she asked, “Do you two mind if we join?”

Veronica prodded his leg with the toe of her Jimmy Choo’s and shot Jughead a questioning look. The ball was in his court, after all, she wasn’t the one that got snubbed by them in the past.

“I’m fine with it,” he sighed and threw a napkin down in the empty basket of fries and met Archie’s eyes in a steely stare, “But the question is, can Archie get off his high horse for long enough to sit down with the lowly likes of me?”

“Be nice,” she warned, although the amusement slipped into her tone.

“Look, Jughead, we don’t have to be friends,” Archie sputtered defensively as he stuffed his hands in the pockets of his bombers and squared his shoulders, “But I know that Veronica considers you her friend. So for her sake, I’m willing to put my shit with you to the side and be civil for the evening."

“Veronica’s sake, huh?” Jughead jeered and made a point to drag out her name as he looked over to Betty for a reaction. The blonde’s chin jerked, but nothing else moved on her face, “Fair enough. Be my guest then.”

Betty sidled into the seat across from hers and Archie did the same on her side. The blonde gave her a nervy glance that she tried to mask with a diluted smile. Meanwhile, Archie was twiddling his thumbs and wrestling with thoughts so noisy that Veronica felt like she could practically hear them bounding around in her own ear canal. Dilton scampered over in a flash to take down Betty and Archie’s orders, and they both looked relieved to be greeted by a welcoming presence. Jughead had made his disdain clear earlier on by scooting in as close as possible to the window that he had committed to staring out of.

“So, Jug…” Betty trailed off like she needed a second to deliberate her next few words, “Has V told you that she and I are officially Vixens as of today?”

“She did,” Jughead nodded, “She also told me Cheryl didn’t make it easy for you.”

“She really didn’t,” the blonde grumbled, then made a poor attempt at perking up, “Anyway, all that matters is that V and I made the squad together. That way we can both be cheering Arch on at the next Bulldog game.”

Jughead snorted. “That’s the dream, isn’t it?”

“It could be fun,” Veronica defended, I’ve never been to a pep rally before.”

“Yeah, because unlike the Vixens, your team actually trained to compete – like a real sport.”

“What are you trying to say, Jughead?” Archie piped up aggressively, “That Betty and Veronica would be wasting their time by supporting me?”

“No, Archie,” Jughead gritted, “I’m trying to make a point about Veronica’s set of skills and how they should be put to better use than cheering courtside at a high school football game. I’m not sure if you’re aware, but not everything is about you.”

“That’s insulting to Betty,” the other boy bit back harshly, “She didn’t spend the whole weekend practicing just for you to put her down by saying that she’d be cheering at a football game like there’s something wrong with that.”

“She trained for two fucking days. Veronica’s been training every day of her life since junior high. This shouldn’t even be up for debate.”

Betty cleared her throat noisily. “Guys, Veronica, and I both worked hard to get what we want. There’s no need to fight over who worked harder for what.”

“Jughead, you said you’d be civil,” Veronica reminded, “So did you, Archie. Let’s try to keep it that way, alright?”

“Fine,” they both grunted in unison. It was just in time for Dilton to return with Betty’s and Archie’s vanilla shakes.

“Thanks, Dilton,” Betty smiled at the school dork and Veronica swore the boy nearly got a hard-on from it, “What were you and Jughead talking about before we got here?”

“The weather,” Jughead mumbled sarcastically.

Veronica rolled her eyes. “Nothing worth mentioning. What about you and Arch? It almost looked like you two were having an argument out there.”

She could feel Archie squirming next to her as he focused on chugging down his thick shake. Betty wasn’t very subtle either. Her hands went down and formed small white knots, her fingers started to claw at her palm. The purple lines she had dug into her flesh from this afternoon were still there. Jughead must also have felt the tension that had fallen over them like a stifling blanket because his ocean blue eyes glittered with intrigue as they slid from Archie to Betty. 

“It wasn’t anything like that,” Betty coughed out a sheepish laugh, “Arch and I just got into a debate about the music in the car.”

 _Sure, you did,_ Veronica could almost hear herself purr. Instead, she turned to Archie with an admonishing grimace, “Archiekins, you can’t keep forcing everyone to listen to your demo tape. You know you’ve got a great voice but sometimes a girl just wants to listen to some radio hits.”

Archie nodded uneasily. “Sure, Ronnie.”

Jughead gave her a cool level stare from over the rim of his glass.

“Hey, I was thinking,” Betty chirped, a cheap diversion that made Jughead snigger, “Maybe we could all start sitting together at lunch. I know that you and Veronica are kind of close now, Jughead, and I know,” she took a deep breath as she looked sideway along her eyes at the redheaded boy, “I know that you and Arch have your issues, but I think it would be really cool if the gang can all hang out again. Plus, no offense, Arch, but I miss having a girl at our lunch table. You and Kevin can be a lot when you start talking about the navy and all that.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Betts,” Archie response came in a heavy exhale, “No offence to you, Ronnie. If it was up to me, you’d sit with us every day too but if you want to sit with Jug when he’s at school, you’re on your own.”

“Archie!” Betty scolded.

“I get it,” Jughead eyes narrowed until they were faint bluish incisions. He’d never looked meaner, “You’re going to make Veronica choose because it grinds your gear that she gives me the time of day.”

Veronica knew he was speaking the truth. She also knew that most people didn’t like to hear the truth.

Archie fizzled into an outraged combination of anguish and bottled fury. “You don’t deserve it."

“You want to tell why I don’t, red? Is it because my dad’s a piece of shit?” Jughead licked his lips as he sunk back into the leather seat and regarded the redheaded jock seated across from him, “That’s not it. You think you deserve more from Veronica because you deserve more than me.”

Betty turned sharply at him, glowering. “Please stop.”

“No, I think he should hear this,” the dark-haired boy insisted and fired on, “News flash, Andrews, your song and dance isn’t going to work on every mysterious female figure that pops up in Riverdale.”

A slow flush crept up Archie’s neck. He must have sensed that he was about to combust at any moment because he abruptly slammed the table with the palm of his hand and stood up. “I’m going to get some air.”

Betty automatically sprung onto her feet and chased after Archie who had unceremoniously slammed the door on his way out. Pop Tate threw her a probing look that she shrugged away. It wasn’t a dishonest response, she didn’t understand why the resentment ran so deep between the two boys. 

Veronica tilted her head to the side and gave Jughead an unimpressed smile. “Did you have to dissect him right here on the dinner table?”

Jughead scoffed and dipped a fry in the ketchup. “You can talk with all the cross-questioning you were doing.”

“Oh come on,” she grinned like a daredevil as she inched forward, her dark eyes sparkling in mischief, “Don’t you want to know what they were arguing about? It’s Archie and Betty we’re talking about here. They never fight.”

He looked at her smoothly across his drink again and emptied it. “Never is a loaded word, Lodge.”

They both sat up with interest, their curious gaze trailing after the two distant figures that were moving further and further away from their watchful gaze. Archie’s red hair was set ablaze under the bright lights of Pop’s, and his clenched jaw was shadowed by the contrast between the neon and the muted darkness of the night sky. In her haste to catch up to him, Betty lost her footing on a melting pile of snow. Her kneecap collided with the slippery floor, and the other one would have too if Archie didn’t come to her rescue. He held her up by the elbow while Betty dangled off his arm like a ragged doll. The blonde stabilised herself on a bit of dry concrete and flung her arm out of his grasp, her green eyes flickering at him madly. She was yelling at him now, but not really. Betty didn’t yell, she did loud controlled voices and quivering mouth. Archie didn’t look so angry anymore if anything he looked guilty. He said something to her, his mouth stretched into a thin line as he shut it and looked around the empty parking lot like he was fearful to be overheard. If she didn’t know any better, she would have assumed that their lover’s spat was over Jughead, but she knew better. No one in this part of town cared enough about him to fight over him so zealously. They were hiding something. Perhaps they didn’t mean to. Perhaps they weren’t even aware of how they looked. After all, It was just how they were – Archie and Betty in their own little technicolour world. 

“He looks scared. Don’t you think?”

Jughead frowned at her. “Of what?”

“Of Betty”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HA! You guys thought you were gonna get away from G&G in this fic.
> 
> All jokes aside, Riverdale should have really expanded upon the Midnight Club situation. The parents plot were infinitely more interesting than what was happening with their kids during that point of the show. Also, Lili Reinhart as Alice >>>>>>Lili as Betty. Anyway, prepare for 7/8k word of exclusively Jeronica content next chapter. 
> 
> As per usual, thank you for all the kudos you take the time to leave as well as the comments. I appreciate all the support and for those of you who have stuck around to this point - wow, we've made it to chapter 10!

Veronica hardly noticed when it all transpired. She had her back turned to the door and leave it to Jughead to overlook a party announcement.

Jughead and she were huddled in the far corner of the classroom and in the middle of planning their Saturday night. She had gotten her shift moved to Monday night, and he was working the early afternoon shift at the garage. The Bijou was showing _‘Airplane’_ at seven pm. They could easily make it to that and according to Jughead, they had to because she couldn’t pass up the chance to see “one of the funniest movies ever made” on the big screen. The plan was Jughead would pick her up from the Pembrooke around half past six, then they’d head over to the theatre ten minutes early for snacks and non-reserved seatings. She’d discovered last time at their spoiled trip to the drive-in that he had a thing for trailers. “ _If you miss the trailers, the whole movie-going experience is compromised_ ,” Jughead had told her and watched the short reel to the new Sherlock Holmes flick like he’d actually pay to see the botched remake. It was Woody Allen’s neuroticism at its best.

“Hey! Moneybag! That means you, Lodge, in case you’re too stupid to know your own finances.”

Veronica’s head lolled to the side as she glanced over Jughead’s shoulder. “Good morning to you too, Cheryl.”

“Were you even listening, you pagan?”

“I’m Catholic but alright then,” she remarked dryly, then a bit louder, “And no, I wasn’t listening. My auditory system knows to tune out the grating sound of your voice.”

“BURN!” Reggie whooped as the other students broke into a chorus of laughter.

The resident bully put his hand out for a high-five and swatted Jughead out of the way. Veronica rolled her eyes as she begrudgingly slapped the boy’s hand and mentally reminded herself to sanitize once she gets back to her desk. 

Jughead ignored the jock and arched his brow at her. “You’re Catholic?”

“Somewhat.”

“Hello!” Cheryl waved her arms around obnoxiously, “I was in the middle of saying something, so pay attention.”

“Yes, Cheryl, we’re all listening. I’m sure it can’t wait,” Jughead droned.

Veronica sniggered over the rim of her Americano.

“Thank you, hobo,” Cheryl nodded curtly, clearly missing the sarcasm in his tone, “This does actually involve you – for once, so it’s nice to see you get involved.”

“Here we go,” the brunette grumbled under his breath.

Cheryl looked thoroughly pleased now that the whole class was listening intently. “As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted by the chitter-chatter between moneybag Lodge and her charity case, I’m throwing a party at Thornhill in Jay-Jay’s honour this Saturday night. Everyone is invited and attendance is mandatory.”

“By everyone, you mean everyone but suicide squad over here, right?” Chuck Clayton nodded in Jughead’s direction.

“No, Chuck, everyone means everyone. No wonder you’re failing English,” Cheryl snapped, then took a deep breath to compose herself, “I know Jason isn’t – wasn’t exactly friends with hobo Jones.”

“You mean he tried to kick his ass whenever he had the chance?” Kevin added speedily.

“Did I speak to you, Keller? Yeah, didn't think so,” Cheryl tossed her fiery curls irritably, “Anyways, yes, I’m aware that Jay-Jay and hobo weren’t the chummiest, but I’ve recently had a moment of deep self-reflection and came to the conclusion that Jason, as kind and gentle as he could be, was not the nicest to Jones,” she sighed and turned to Jughead, batting her set of falsies dramatically at him, “Jughead, on the behalf of my brother, I’d like to apologize for all the cruelty he subjected to you to. I can only hope to right his wrongs by inviting you to this party to honour his memory.”

Kevin kept his eyes glued to the touching scene in front of him as he leaned back in his chair and whispered to Veronica, “Um…do you know what’s happening?”

“Nope, not a clue.”

Jughead folded his arm over his chest and regarded Cheryl with cool indifference. “And why would I want to honour his memory again?”

“So you, like the rest of us, could move on with our lives now that he’s gone,” Cheryl declared dramatically, her dark eyes brimmed with tears – fake or real, that was yet to be determined, “Please do consider it, Jughead.”

The bombshell ducked down her head and blotted away the sprinkle of her waterworks with the sleeve of her cashmere knit. Somehow, she managed to put on a watery smile as she glanced around at the stunned faces of her school peers. Veronica didn’t know if she should be smiling back or frowning when the girl dawdled out the room.

“Wow, she called by your actual name. Maybe she is speaking from the heart,” Veronica quipped once Cheryl was out of earshot.

“I highly doubt that,” Jughead mumbled sourly.

“Does it matter?” Kevin chimed in, “We’re all going to that party.”

Jughead’s eyebrows pulled together into a strained line. “Says who?”

“Says Cheryl,” Kevin replied like it went without saying.

Jughead was prepared to protest but that would have to wait another time. Elmer Flutesnoot had just walked in and he didn’t look happy, not even close. The three of them exchanged a bleak look before dispersing to their seats.

“Morning class, I am in no mood to deal with any of you today,” Featherhead sighed heavily as he dumped a pile of ungraded quizzes onto his desk and threw himself onto the chair, “So for the next forty minutes, I expect each of you to partner up with another student and get feedback on your draft – the one you _should_ have already completed since last week in preparation for the paper due next Monday.”

He knew just as the rest of the class did that the majority of them hadn’t even begun to work on a draft. Veronica wrote hers up last night on a whim. She had initially planned to break into the Register for premature updates on the Jason Blossom case but that was cancelled once she got wind that Alice was going to be pulling a late one at the office. Since there was nothing to do and everything was at a standstill with the Jason as well as the unknown death situation, she had no choice but to do some actual schoolwork, like a normal high school student.

Veronica swivelled over in her chair and immediately met Jughead’s expectant gaze from two rows back with a stack of papers already in hand. She shot him an affectionate smile and pawed through her bag for the correct binder, but when she looked up again, Jughead was looking through her. Specifically at Trev Brown who had pulled up to her desk with no draft or invitation.

She suppressed a groan as Trev grinned at her innocently, oblivious to his being unwanted company. “Sup’, Veronica. I thought we could work together for the day.”

“Um…sure,” Veronica shifted in her seat awkwardly as she handed him her work, “Do you want to go grab your draft so I can take a look at it?”

“Nah, I haven’t done mine. I’ll read yours though.”

“Okay then…”

Veronica took a quick glance over her shoulder to see if Jughead had found himself a partner. She was thinking she might be able to excuse herself out of this interaction, but it seemed she would have no such luck. Ethel had gotten out of her chair and was making her way over to him. Over the last couple of weeks, the freckly ginger had dropped hints that she was sweet on Jughead. Not that she was subtle about it anyway. She was always making googly eyes at him from three lunch tables away and she loved to make it known in every conversation she could insert into that she liked the same things that he did. Gross.

She knotted her hands in front of her and smiled tightly at Trev who was barely reading the words on the page. He kept looking up and at her, his eyes skimming over her face appreciatively. She wondered if Jughead was in the same boat with Ethel.

“You want to go to Cheryl’s party together?”

She blinked. “What?”

“You and me,” Trev motioned between them like she had brain damage, “Let’s go to the Blossom’s party together.”

“That’s an idea, but I think Jughead and I plan to go together. As friends, obviously,” Veronica explained smoothly.

“Okay, yeah, I feel you,” he nodded understandingly but the disappointment was evident in his voice, “That’s cool that you and Jones are tight. You don’t see a lot of the popular kids hang out with the loser types, you know? Especially if they’re in with the Bulldogs or the Vixens.”

“Why especially?”

Trev hunched his shoulders and glanced around wearily. He dragged his chair forward and in a hushed voice: “You know about Jason’s drug habits, right?”

“I’ve been told he dabbled.”

“Yeah, well all the doping he did for sport eventually bled over to the day-to-day stuff. He was in deep with all the steroids he was taking, then when that didn’t do it for him anymore he thought he’d try out the hard stuff.”

That made her stop clicking her pen. “What kind of hard stuff are we talking about?”

“The jingle-jangle, the coke, the xans. Jay was doing anything he could get his hands on.”

“Okay, but what does that have to with the Vixens and the Bulldogs?”

“Right,” Trev kept his eyes down on the draft and pretended to skim through it as one of the students walked by. Then, “Yeah so papa Jones was selling to Jay. Then one day he just refused to – didn’t say why or anything. That got Jay mad pissed but there was nothing he could do so he went straight to the source to get his hit.”

Veronica urged him to continue with a suspect quirk of her brow.

“The Ghoulies, man,” he told her like she was supposed to know who they were, “Jay went to the Ghoulies to make the buy. That must have not sat well with FP that Jay was doing business with the enemy so he sent some Serpents over one day after football practice. They were all like “give us our money.” Those thugs were threatening to break all his bones and dump him in Sweetwater river if he didn’t cough up some cash.”

 _Who the hell were the Ghoulies?_ Veronica made a mental note to make that google search later. All the news reports she’d come across thus far supported the claims that the Serpents were the ones doing the dealing.

“Wait, are you implying that the Serpents killed Jason for revenge?”

“I’m not trying to say anything like that,” Trev backed up defensively, “All I know is that when Cheryl heard about it, she went ape on Jones. She was straight up trying to bash him up in the middle of lunch break and Andrews had to come get his boy. It was messed up. Ever since then, Cheryl won’t let any of the Vixens talk to Jones, let alone look his direction. Jay wasn’t any better, he was like a dog with a bone when it came to Jones. He was always trying to get the boys to jump him whenever he saw him walking around school.”

“Then why would Cheryl try to make amends now?” she frowned, “You saw her this morning. She was practically trying to shove the olive branch down his throat.”

“I don’t know, man,” he shrugged, “Cheryl’s always been like that though – she goes where her mood takes her on the day.”

Veronica nodded slowly, silently wishing she could write all of this down without it being peculiar.

Trev grinned, flashing all his teeth, “I got to say, you must be pretty damn special if you got Chery to make up with Jones so she could have you on her squad.”

Oh, she was special alright. He just didn’t know how much so.

* * *

“No”

“But –“

“But I don’t care. The answer is still no, Veronica.”

“You can’t expect me to walk into the lion’s den alone.”

Jughead shrugged carelessly and stacked his books up on the top shelf of his locker. “It’s your choice to go.”

“It’s not,” Veronica huffed, “I’m a Vixen now. I don’t have a choice. Cheryl isn’t running a democracy, Jones. She’s never going to let it go if I fail to show.”

“Betty will be there and so will Kevin.”

“It’s different with them. You know you’re the Bonnie to my Clyde,” Veronica cajoled and playfully nudged him with her shoulder, “It’s a full pardon for dumping me as a friend if you come.”

He considered her offer for a second. “Full pardon? You won’t bring it up ever again, not even for small favours like you did last week when you wanted to get your car washed and Smithers wasn’t around?” 

“That wasn’t a favour. It was an emergency!”

“Veronica, an emergency is your apartment being on fire or being held at gunpoint. Needing your car cleaned because you drove through the snow, is not an emergency,” he levelled with her and prodded his locker door shut, “By the way, I don’t take offense to you calling me Bonnie. I would make for a better getaway driver than you would, no question there.”

“Now you’re just being mean.”

He rolled his eyes as he watched her pretend to sulk, and made a move to walk off. Veronica was quicker than that and caught him by the sleeve of his jacket before he could think to put another foot forward.

“It could be fun,” she suggested jauntily, and linked their arms, “I heard a Blossom’s party always come with a fully stocked bar and at the measly cost of attendance. We could have a couple of drinks and kick back while we watch everyone else get embarrassingly shitfaced.”

“While that does sound entertaining, how do I know that you can handle your alcohol?”

“How do I know _you_ can?” Veronica threw back at him, a wicked grin tugging at her lips. She exhaled a small sigh and spun them both around so they were facing one another, and because beggars can’t be choosers, she attempted to disarm him with the most fetching smile she could muster, “Please. Can we go?”

Jughead stared back at her, unmoved.

“I haven’t been to one party since I’ve gotten Riverdale,” she added belatedly, hoping it might help her case.

“And you want your first one to be Cheryl’s?”

“Not exactly,” she admitted, “But it’s better than nothing.”

He ran a hand through a clump of his dark curls and sighed loudly as he threw his arms up in surrender. She couldn’t tell what he was more appalled by; himself for giving in or her for getting him there.

“Fine, but this means I’m completely off the hook for the whole friendship hiatus ordeal. And we’re not staying past midnight.”

Veronica rejoiced by clasping her hands together. “Done and done.”

“Why do I regret this already?” Jughead asked rhetorically.

“Because you’re an edgy outsider who’s allergic to fun,” she teased as they resumed their walk to the canteen.

“V!"

Veronica turned at the sound and saw Betty dashing down the hall and towards them. Her blonde ponytail was swinging wildly and didn’t stop once she stopped in front of them, her chest still rising and falling from all the hurry she was in. 

“Did you guys get invited to Cheryl’s on Saturday?”

“Unfortunately,” Jughead grumbled.

“Oh my god, that’s great!” Betty jumped up and down in glee, “I’m so excited! I haven’t been to a real high school party before.”

“Never?” Veronica asked as she gave Jughead a sideway glance to gain some sort of confirmation from him, but he only shrugged, “Are you serious?”

“Well, traditionally, all the parties are thrown by one of the Blossom’s at Thornhill and you know how Cheryl feels about me,” Betty explained sheepishly as she folded her pale lip under her teeth, “But she said I’m a Vixen now so I can come.”

“I’m happy for you, Betts,” Jughead offered blandly, “This must be a really big deal to you.”

“I know you think I’m ridiculous but I’m too excited to care right now,” Betty babbled eagerly and took Veronica’s hand in hers, “What should I wear? I don’t have anything that would work for the party, do I? We need to go shopping, like immediately – as in today, after school.”

“Woah, slow down,” Veronica couldn’t help but chuckle as she stilled Betty’s hand with a gentle squeeze, “I can’t today. I have to work tonight, but I can do tomorrow. We’ll definitely find you something cute to wear before Friday.”

“Jug, you should come with!” Betty encouraged with a blinding grin, “Cheryl told a couple of the girls in my home economics class that the dress code is formal. You wouldn’t have anything like that in your closet, right?”

“No,” Jughead muttered and started to walk off, “But I’ll make something work.”

Veronica knew that it wasn’t an intentional jab at Jughead’s hard up lifestyle. Betty was too sweet to throw shade. Jughead knew that too, he just didn’t enjoy being reminded of how little money he had or how it could run out any day now. He never let a word slip but she’d figured out a while ago that his work at the garage was barely paying the bills and he skipped dinner some nights just to make the rent.

“D – did I say something wrong?” Betty asked, clueless.

“Nothing,” she said dismissively, “He’s just in one of his moods today.”

“Oh ok…are you coming to lunch with us? Or are you going to sit with Jug again today?”

“No, I’ll come,” Veronica muttered quietly as she watched him disappear down the corridor with a lighter clutched in hand, “I think he might want some time alone.”

* * *

Like clockwork, Jughead showed up at Pop’s half an hour before closing time. Veronica got a waft of cigarette, grease oil, and sandalwood and knew it was him. He dropped down on his regular stool before the cash register and didn’t bother with words. She didn’t look up from her book as she reached for a pot of coffee and poured it into the cup to his right. She flipped to the next page of her novel and read the first paragraph before sneaking her first peek at him for the night.

“Dinner?”

“Already had it on the way over.”

“What did you have?”

“A bag of Cheetos.”

“That’s not dinner.”

“It has to be tonight.”

Veronica silently placed Kafka down on the counter and walked over to the oven. She pulled out a warm plate of cheeseburger, fries and slopped some potato salad onto the side.

“Eat up,” she told him like it was a command as she set the meal down before him.

He didn’t say anything, he just nodded and tuck into the burger. She smiled, pleased, and went back to her book.

“Why are you reading Kafka?” Jughead asked with his mouth half-full, “I thought you hated his writing.”

“You said I should give it a chance, so here I am doing just that,” she said frankly, “l don’t quite ‘get’ him or the point of his stories, but it’s better than I remember. I’m still disgusted by the whole cockroach situation, that hasn’t changed.”

He chuckled lowly. “Well, that’s a given.”

Veronica set the book down, but with the full intent of keeping it shut this time. “So,” she leaned her elbow on the scratched-up counter and rested her chin on her folded fist, “How has your night been?”

“Shit,” Jughead replied shortly, “Yours?”

“Boring, but I’m not in need of first aid so I’d say I’m doing better than you.”

He muttered ‘shit’ under his breath and dropped his fork, the silver making ugly jangly noise against the porcelain of the plate. “You knew?”

Veronica hummed her assent. “I saw the dry blood on your jeans before you sat down. Although the awkward clenching and unclenching of your knuckle that you’ve been trying to do behind your back didn’t help either.”

His jaw ticked as he lifted the cup with his left hand and took an unsteady sip. “I slipped and fell on the toolbox.”

Veronica arched a brow and gave him another chance to come up with a more believable excuse than that. “If you’re going to lie to me, you’re better off not talking at all.”

Jughead narrowed his eyes. “I got into it with this asshole of a customer that wanted his windscreen fixed for a quarter of the fucking price.”

“Better.”

Veronica walked over to the kitchen door and nudged it open with the square edge of her heels. The kitchen was an icebox in itself, Pop never bothered with the heating in here. He said all deep-frying and pan-frying made it hot enough in here even on the coldest of days. She wasn’t sure she bought that. It sounded more like another excuse to save costs somewhere. She pulled open one of the drawers and grabbed a fresh cloth. Two weeks ago, she would confuse it for the cutlery drawer, but she was now running this place like a well-oiled machine. She bent down to open up the cooler and saw mostly frozen chips and meat patties. The sharp bits of ice were shoved to the corners. Veronica thought she was better off scooping it up by the fistful with the cloth. When she came back out, Jughead was no longer there. The steam of his coffee was still hovering above the cup, he hadn’t even bothered to finish his drink. He did that sometimes; take off without a word. He always made sure to text an hour or two later, usually, something along the lines of “something came up.” There was never an explanation, and she thought it better not to ask for one. She glanced at the clock and its hands told her that her shift was nearly over anyway. She stripped out of the apron and decided to keep the dress on; it could do with a wash. She grabbed her purse from under the counter and had her coat off the hook when she was suddenly assaulted by bright streaks of amber lights. She squeezed her eyes to block out most of the glare and stuck a finger through the blind, nudging the aluminium up. It was the headlights of a tinted van. Whoever the owner was, he or she was an asshole for parking right up against the back exit. Now she was going to have to parade around the entrance in the hideous grease-stained uniform. She grunted a string of profanities under her breath and dragged herself back to the front door. She was about to trudge through it but the door flew open, letting in a gust of icy wind. A bearded yahoo with greasy long hair took up the space before her, blocking her path. He took a large step forward and Veronica didn’t know if he was trying to intimidate her or he just never heard of ladies first before.

“Sorry, we’re closed.”

He furrowed his thick, unruly brows. “Isn’t this joint supposed to run all day, every day?”

“Only on Thursday to Sunday,” she told him politely.

The man nodded and backed away from the door, allowing her to squeeze through.

“You know if Hermosa Lodge is in there?”

“I don’t know,” Veronica lied, a touch too quick for her liking or his liking too it seemed, “The staffs don’t usually get told about the management’s whereabouts.”

His beady eyes trailed up and down her form. “You sure about that, little girl?” he asked lowly, licking his lips like a hungry animal as he advanced causing her to a few precautionary steps back.

“Tall boy!” a gruff voice barked out before her back could fully press against the wall.

“Leave her alone,” Jughead looked at the man carefully then her and threw his cigarette on the cement floor. He stamped it without looking down.

The man whipped around at the sound of his name, revealing to her the emerald snake wrapped around his back. Jughead stalked over to them and took his place beside her. His hand hovered over hers like he was unsure if he should pull her into him or push her out of the way.

Jughead scowled at the shaggy-haired man, his eyes hard and his jaw harder as he said, “She’s new, she wouldn’t know anything about the owner. You better keep it moving, there’s no one else working at Pop’s tonight. I was just in there for a meal before.”

The man sized him up. “This your girl, Jug?”

“No, but she’s a friend.”

He gave them both a steely look but nodded anyway. “Alright then. I’ll keep it moving.”

The man walked a narrow circle around them, his harsh stare burning a line into her back as he walked off. A stoic minute later, she heard the roaring of an engine then the crunching sound of the wheels turning over the gravels. She realised then that he must have been the owner of the van parked behind the diner.

“What the fuck was that?” Veronica asked, her voice barely more than a rasp.

“He does business with your sister.”

She turned sharply at him. “What business?”

Jughead’s reply was cursory. “Delivers the rum”

Veronica was about to ask even more questions but was brought to a halt by the frightful sight of his throbbing fist that was now hanging limply by his side. She couldn’t make out the veins anymore, the whole hand was a swollen, bruised violet of a mess.

“Wait here,” she ordered then rushed back inside for the make-shift icepack and the first aid kit Pop kept stored under the stovetop.

Jughead was attempting to light another cigarette with his left thumb, scratching his jammed up nail against the metal wheel like it could turn if he put enough pressure on it. Veronica rolled her eyes as she pushed out the door and crouched down next to him. Wordlessly, she wrangled the Zippo out of his grasp and shoved it in her pocket. She gently wrapped her hand around his right wrist and brought it to her lap. The dress was full of stains anyway, what difference would another one make? She put the ice on the billowy skirt and his swelling hand on top of it. He winced at the cooling sensation. His teeth parted and a low hissing noise came out between them. They sat there on the curb until the caked up blood on his hand melded with the melting ice and ran down the front of her dress. The crimson was harsh against the mustard yellow but so was the ghostly white smears under his ocean blue eyes.

“Have you ever thought about getting a job somewhere else?”

He let his breath out so slowly that it hung on his lips. “Nowhere else would have me.”

“You used to work at the Twilight Drive-in,” she pointed out.

“That was before my dad got arrested on drug charges. The owner was hesitant about hiring me in the first place. He just felt bad for me and thought he’d give me a break.”

Veronica nodded because there was nothing to say.

He laughed suddenly; a dry, scratchy sound against his throat. “Maybe I could join Tall Boy and work for your sister. I heard she pays well.”

She gave him a sidelong glance. “Yeah, what was that about before?”

“I thought you knew about your sister’s side hustle. Everyone knows about it, I thought you did too,” Jughead said plainly as he flicked open a pack of Marlboro and held it up to his chin, he pulled out a stick between his teeth. Veronica went ahead and fiddled with the lighter until a flame flickered between them. He lit the butt of his cigarette and released a smoke ring into the cold air as he continued, “Rumour has it that she waters down all her rum and that’s why she’s able to bottle it up for a quarter of the price. Some of the Southsiders that work for her claim that that’s the taste of a homegrown product. I’d argue it’s the taste of cough syrup and sugar cane mixed together. Apparently that’s all they sell downstairs at La Bonne Nuit, it’s the same at the Whyte Wyrm. Tall boy and a few of the other locals are under her payroll. They drive it around to the next town and a few after that too and sell it to the local bars that can’t afford the legit stuff. Personally I don’t have a problem with the way your sister runs things. It lines some of our pockets and it’s definitely the better alternative to most of the businesses happening on the south side.”

That explained why Hermosa was always decked out in designers and not the outlet kind.

“It doesn’t surprise me. She’s kind of an asshole,” Veronica said bluntly as she unrolled the bandage and ripped out a medium-length strip, “My family is full of assholes.”

“You know, you never mentioned why your parents let you move across the country by yourself.”

“My parents…” she sighed heavily and swallowed down the golf-ball-size lump in her throat, “They don’t take mistakes lightly. Everything comes with a price to them, and I guess they think this is my price to pay,” she soaked a generous amount of betadine onto a cotton pad and lightly dabbed on the bloody gash on his knuckle. “Please tell me you at least tried washing the wound.”

He ignored her last comment. He was always the type to shoot straight. “What did you do?”

“I tried to do what I thought was right for a friend,” she gazed up at him, the corner of her lips twitched into a grimace, “I found out later that making things right comes with a price too.”

He watched her under the faint glow of his cigarette, his gaze tender as they lingered over her face. “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

“And ruin all the elusiveness that surrounds me? Don’t think so,” Veronica snipped playfully, “I didn’t kill anyone though. I’ll give you that much.”

No, death was a finnicky thing. You see, a dead man will haunt you, but an undead man will run you out of town.

“I used to think about it a lot – you, I mean. I spent nights, maybe even days, trying to think of reasons why someone like you – you, who could do anything and be anything you want – would come to a sleepy town of nobodies. You were meant to be somebody. I knew that the moment I saw you, and I knew you knew it too,” Jughead said as the smoke floated dimly between them, “I kept thinking about it until it dawned on me that I don’t really care why you’re here. I thought that if I knew why I would be one step closer to knowing you, but it wouldn’t. I know you now, and I’m glad I got to know you the way that I did,” his eyes were the blue of mountains and lakes as he stared into hers, “I got to know you as my friend. That’s the best thing that could have happened to me in this screwed up town.”

That was the first time Veronica ever held his hand. He held hers back like it was a lifeline, and the two of them were floating along in the night.

* * *

“Is it normal that my feet are killing me after all the shopping we did?”

Betty and Veronica had somehow managed to cram through the narrow door of her apartment with at least ten bags between the two of them. She didn’t need more clothes, she just wanted more. Watching Betty try on fifty-something outfits had been fun at first but eventually, it just made her want to do some of that herself. First, it was the shoes, then it was the makeup, then it was the purses – she should have stopped at the third ankle booties. At least shopping ‘til you drop was a good stress reliever. So maybe she did need to buy as much as she did to compensate for her steadily rising stress levels.

“Yep,” Veronica affirmed, popping her ‘p’, “There’s a lot of cardio involved.”

“My mum’s going to murder me once she finds out I bought that low cut top,” Betty said with a groan.

“Archie is going to _die_ when he sees you in that.”

“More like he’ll give me his jacket and tell me to cover up, like a good older brother.”

Veronica grinned slyly. “Trust me, he won’t see you as a little sister ever again after we dress you up in that top and the velvet mini skirt you tried on before I maxed out my credit card.”

“You think?”

“Sometimes you’ve got to remind a man of what he’s missing.”

“I hope so…sometimes I think it’s better if I give up on Archie, but then I get so scared at the thought that we might not end up together. I can’t imagine being with anyone else but him, you know?” the blonde sighed solemnly and flopped down on her couch, “Maybe I’ve got it all wrong.”

“You haven’t,” she assured the other girl, “He just needs some more time to figure out that you two belong together. Boys are always slow on romantic epiphanies.”

Veronica nudged the fruition of her afternoon’s spending under the console table and pranced over to the kitchen.

“I could do with a cold drink,” she said aloud as she opened up the fridge, “You want anything, B?”

“Juice, maybe?”

Veronica hummed as she skimmed over the shelves. Barely any juice, two bottles of Evian, and a litre of milk. She badly needed to make a trip to the groceries. She pulled out the almost empty carton of orange juice and set down two glasses on the counter. She thought about asking Betty if she wanted something to snack on, but she knew Alice had been especially restrictive with the calories ever since she found out Betty had joined the Vixens. She wasn’t sure if that was the woman’s way of punishing her daughter, or she truly thought she was up for mother of the year.

“Hey, V! What’s this?”

She put the juice away and took the cups out to the living room. Betty was standing over the dining table, her fingers tapping on the waxed surface rhythmically as she stared down at the notebook splayed open in front of her. She was hoping that was her physics note.

“Daniel Montana? I know him!” Betty said, all chipper, “How come you’ve got his details written down?”

It wasn’t.

Veronica arched a brown as she handed Betty a glass. “You know him? He just started working for my mum.”

“What a coincidence! He shadowed my parents at the Register for a few weeks last summer. He even stayed with us for a couple of those weeks.”

She screwed up her eyes in deep confusion.

“You know, cause he works for the L.A. Times?” Betty supplied without needing to be prompted, “He was trying to put together a story on the ‘Gryphons and Gargoyle’ incident that happened in the nineties.”

Veronica rested her hip against the edge of the table. “What the hell is that?”

“Ugh, sorry I should have explained. Sometimes I forget that only the locals know the story,” Betty said all frazzled as she pulled out a chair and sat down, “Gryphons and Gargoyle, or G&G – whatever you want to call it, was this weird role-playing game that a couple of kids from Riverdale High, including my mother, were obsessed with and they would get together after school to play it. Things eventually got intense – some people took their “quests” too seriously and did a bunch of crazy things to “ascend.” Which was bonkers in itself because to ascend, you had to drink out of a chalice that sometimes had poison in it. Somehow, on the night of an ascension party put together by some of the students, the principal wound up dead. Daniel must have stumbled upon the case and thought he might as well try piecing the events together. He called up my parents and asked if they’d be willing to speak to him about it if he travelled to Riverdale. My mum was pretty reluctant at first, but I guess she must have had a change of heart because they gave him all the information he wanted. It didn’t matter in the end, they still haven’t figured out who killed the principal. Daniel was really nice to us though, I kind of miss having him around because mum would try to keep her unwanted criticisms to herself,” she took a large gulp of her juice and licked her lips, “I’m surprised your parents haven’t told you about it, they were there too on the night that the murder happen. It’s probably the scariest thing that’s ever happened in Riverdale other than Jason going missing.”

Her burgundy lips pulled into a taut smile. “We’re not so big on sharing as a family.”

“So what kind of work is he doing with your mum?” Betty asked after a beat of silence.

“Oh, she’s helping him write up this ‘tell-all’ piece for the New Yorker,” she lied with practiced ease, “Hopefully it can shed some light on my dad’s case and vindicate him in the public eyes.”

“Then you’re in good hands! Daniel has a talent in getting dirt on people.”

Veronica brought the rim of the glass to her lips. “What do you mean?”

“Ugh…mum would have my head on the platter if she found out that I uttered a word about this. So please, can we keep it between us?” Betty kept it barely above a whisper regardless of the fact that they were the only two people here.

She nodded eagerly.

“I don’t know how but Daniel found out about the Blossom’s bribing the state’s swim association from stripping Jason of his title when it went around that he had been using performance-enhancing drugs. He told my parents about it because he was worried for Polly. Obviously my parents freaked out, thinking that she’d been using with him. I came home and they basically turned her room inside out trying to find the drugs. Turns out they were right, Polly had bottles of prescription meds hidden in every corner of the house imaginable. She swore it was to help with her anxiety but even I found that hard to believe.”

“I’m guessing that was partly why they decided to ship her upstate?”

“That,” Betty sighed with both her shoulders, “And the fact that she acted absolutely insane the day Jason went missing. Maybe she was on something, I’m not sure. She started saying all sorts of crazy things, V,” she stared at her with deep, distant eyes as she spoke, “She was thrashing around in my bed, screaming and crying about Jason being dead. At some point, she even told me that Daniel killed Jason.”

“Do you believe her?” Veronica asked, with a grave stare.

“No, of course not,” Betty said negligently, “Polly was probably tweaking or something. She would never accuse Daniel of something so horrible if she was in her right mind. The two of them got really close during his stay with us. It was to the point where Jason got jealous at times.”

The blonde laughed but it sounded like she was choking.

“B,” Veronica started as she shifted forward in her seat, “Say someone in this town did kill Jason, who do you think did it?”

Betty contemplated this for some time. “I don’t know, if I had to guess – and I hate to even think that this could be true - but my best guess is that FP put a Serpent member up to it,” she gnawed at her baby pink pout, then her chipped nails, “I mean, think about it. Everybody loved Jason. Our whole year level looked up to him, and the parents adored him for all the work he did for the community. The only person who had any sort of issue with him was FP, so it would have to be him, right?”

Veronica wondered who it was that Jughead cast for the role of the killer in his novel. She wondered if she was the femme fatale, the Ava Gardner type, who reminded him so much of her. She wondered if she was the redeemable kind; the dangerous beauty with a moral compass who found her way back to the good side. She wondered if FP Jones was the villain in everyone’s story but his son’s.

“I don’t know,” she shrugged, “In my experience, things are never as simple as they seem on the surface.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This chapter was taken down and revised on 26/05/2020 due to some mistakes over the plot details and character names. Apologies for the inconvenience x


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I initially planned to hold off on updating due to the utterly horrific and heartbreaking situation that's happening over in the U.S. but I thought that somewhere out there one of my readers could do with some light-hearted reading in the midst of this scary time.
> 
> I think I can say with confidence that the complete injustice of the George Floyd killing has weighed heavily on all of us and the systematic killing of African Americans has been an ongoing issue that should have been fixed a long time ago. It is disappointing, not to mention disgusting that the justice system has failed its people time and time again. I don't think I could even begin to understand the frustration and anger felt by black people all around the world. All I can do is show my support by donating, signing petitions, educate myself and continue to have important conversations with my friends and family. I've linked some petitions and charities/organisations below. Please take a couple of minutes to look at them and sign/donate if you can. If you're planning on attending protests, please stay safe and please look out for one another x
> 
> https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/  
> https://docs.google.com/document/d/1-0KC83vYfVQ-2freQveH43PWxuab2uWDEGolzrNoIks/mobilebasic  
> https://minnesotafreedomfund.org/donate  
> https://www.gofundme.com/f/georgefloyd  
> https://actionnetwork.org/fundraising/louisville-community-bail-fund

Veronica dreaded the phone call with her mother but on a Thursday night, she dialled her number anyway

Hermione picked up after the third ring with a cold but prim, “ _Hi,_ _mija_.” Veronica didn’t bother to greet her mother back and launched straight into the details. She wound the plastic cord of the telephone around her fresh coat of jungle red manicure as she summarised each point she had jotted down in her notes. Hermione didn’t interrupt her once the whole time she spoke. Veronica couldn’t tell if that was a good sign or a bad one. She finished on her most recent discovery – Jason’s doping almost getting him stripped of his state title if not for his parents meddling. She knew that bit of information wouldn’t interest her mother, she only mentioned it to bait Hermione into revealing something she shouldn’t. Veronica would take anything at this point; she was desperate for one fucking thing to add up. Hermione, as expected, kept mum. Her response was simple and meaningless, “ _A drug addiction will get you tied up with all the wrong people_.” Who were these “wrong people”? Her parents? The Ghoulies? The Serpents? All of the above? It was like an impossible pop quiz where all the options were correct but incorrect all at once. Veronica knew she was fighting a losing fight with that one and decided to move onto the Michael Minetta ala Daniel Montana conundrum. Hermione didn’t sound the least bit effected to hear that he had gone under a different alias during his stay at Riverdale. She also wasn’t surprised when Veronica informed her that he’d been staying at the Cooper resident. If it seemed as if her mother already knew all of this, it was because she did. In fact, Hermione confessed to concocting the whole thing. She went on to confirm that the L.A. Times front had been exactly just that. She fed Minetta the Gryphons and Gargoyle story for easy access to the Cooper’s and consequently, the people of Riverdale. Apparently, Hal Cooper had been hell-bent on solving the case for years now. Her mother knew that and knew that a big-time reporter from the big city would be an easy sell.

Veronica conveniently left out the Serpents and FP Jones. She had done her research and came across a picture of the two of them together in an old yearbook. It was a wonder that one even existed. She heard that her mother was a religious freak back in the days and in Jughead’s own words, his father was a “troubled jock with anger issues because his old man enjoyed smacking him around.” It made no sense that they would run in the same circle but then the G&G fuckery happened. In the photograph, her mother was wearing a skirt made for a nun, and FP had enough grease in his hair to rival John Travolta. They were sitting on the steps outside the gym with Sierra McCoy and Fred Andrews. They didn’t look chummy enough to be going steady but Veronica could hazard a guess from the way young FP was smiling at young Hermione in the photograph that he had a thing for her and she knew it even if she didn’t reciprocate it. Not much eluded her mother, especially when it came to men. Instead, Veronica focused on implementing ‘the Ghoulies’ into the conversation. Much to her annoyance, her mother gave the illusion that she had no idea who or what they were. And since Veronica could never tell if or when Hermione was lying, she had to take her word for it. She insisted that she knew of the Serpents but only because her childhood home was on the same rural side of town. For someone who’d never be caught dead without a set of diamonds, Veronica had a hard time picturing her mother living amongst the trailer trashed.

In the end, Hermione made it clear that she didn’t share her interest in the “common shenanigans.” She only cared to hear about Veronica’s progress on tracking down the blackmailer and taking back the evidence. Veronica clenched her teeth when she had to deliver the unfortunate news that she wasn’t any closer to working it out than she was a few weeks ago. “ _Such a disappointment, mija. Your father expected so much more of you,”_ her mother had told her condescendingly. It was like a dagger to the heart. Neither of them deserved her pain, but it was painful to have failed, over and over again.

The phone call made her feel so lousy that she drove all the way to the Register to compensate for the heavy stirring in the pit of her stomach. She decided she would take a good long look through the Coopers’ photocopies of the town’s missing person’s reports. She knew it was a feeble effort to look for a missing person with glasses, but it was better than sitting on her ass and doing nothing. Even if she did find a missing person’s from this year who also glasses, it didn’t mean that it was _the_ victim. Plenty of people went without their glasses when getting their picture taken, and lots of people wore them even if they didn’t need to. She couldn’t even take the goddamn lens into the optometrist for inspection. There was a faint smear across one corner of what she assumed to be blood. She considered washing it off but she knew that if she did, she would have tampered with the only DNA evidence she had. After some snooping, Veronica stumbled across a logbook in the bottom drawer of Hal’s desk. Apparently, he’d been keeping a record of every missing persons and death, accidental or not. She flipped over to the latest page and only found Jason Blossom’s name written in neat cursive writing on the very first line. She thought she’d double-check with the folder but that too offered her nothing. Veronica resolved herself to the real possibility that the death being held over hers and her family’s heads had gone unreported. No one had bothered to look for them and if no one was looking, it meant that she was completely alone in her hunt.

Veronica woke up the next morning to the alarm ringing and the numbness of immobility. She wiggled her toes a couple of times and watched them move under the duvets. She couldn’t feel a thing. She waited for another ten minutes. When ten minutes turned into thirty, Veronica forced her hand out from under the covers and groped around her nightstand for her phone. She looked up the school’s number and rang the administration. She put on her best Hermosa voice and informed the receptionist that “Veronica would not be coming in for the day. She had caught an unfortunate case of the stomach flu.” _Perhaps that wasn’t a lie, perhaps she was truly sick,_ Veronica’s thoughts were in loops as she stared up at the smooth ceiling of her apartment until she drifted back to sleep.

When Veronica stirred awake later that morning the digital clock beside her lamp told her it was actually noon. She blinked until her eyes adjusted to the brightness of the sunlight that was now creeping through the curtains. She threw the covers over her legs and willed herself to sit up. It took a couple of tries but eventually, her body complied. Her toes brushed against the plush carpet as she sat upright. She watched her nails scratch against the cushiony fabric with fascination. The red polish against the cream reminded her of fresh blood on porcelain skin.

She was shaken out of her thought by the insistent buzzing of her phone. Her chest cracked under the pressure as she sighed and turned the cell over in her hand. The screen lit up instantly with notifications. Five of them were from Betty, two were from Kevin and the most recent one was Jughead. It was a text, and it had read: _“No school today?”_

Veronica clicked on it and typed up an equally short message that told him she was feeling under the weather. She abandoned the phone on her bed and considered making herself an egg sandwich when she felt another wave of vibration ripple through the mattress. It was Jughead again, he had double texted this time. One was asking what was wrong with her, and the other was asking if she was still set on going to Cheryl’s tonight. The answer to his first question was “I don’t know” and “No” was the other answer, but she couldn’t very well be truthful about that. Veronica quickly replied telling him that she woke up to a “frightening headache” and that she was “popping aspirins in anticipation for tonight, so don’t even think about getting out of it.” She contemplated sending another text that would say something along the lines of “Do you want to ditch the rest of the afternoon and come hang out at mine before the party?” She even started writing it up when she realised that it would be selfish of her to ask that of him. Jughead couldn’t afford to miss school, not with Wetherbee and child services always up his ass.

Veronica slicked her hair back into a messy bun and pushed herself up to her feet. She felt a little wobbly at first but by the time she made it out the bedroom and to the bathroom, her legs no longer felt like stones.

Veronica didn’t look at her phone again until she got some food in her. Jughead had left another message at quarter to one: “ _Wish you were here, school is a shitshow without you. Feel better soon.”_

She felt a little less heavy after that.

* * *

Veronica held off getting ready for as long as she could. She wanted to stay soaked in the cherry blossom scented bubble bath until the end of time, but alas duty called. She unceremoniously climbed out of the water around six.

She meandered over to her vanity and put a couple of rollers in her hair and secured them with some plastic clips she had lying around in the drawer. Her skin was a dehydrated mess but it was too late for a facial now. Veronica sat down on the chair in front of the mirror and covered her face with a thick layer of cream.

She straddled the padded fur bench and stared down at the plum dress she had laid out on the bed. The last time she wore that was to a St. Bernard’s Party with Katy Keene and Nick. St Clair. To say it was a night to remember would be putting it lightly. She walked over to the bed and gingerly sat down on the edge. She ran her fingers through the exquisite fabric and revelled over how soft it felt. She took it off the hanger then undid the knot she had made with the towel, letting it fall to the floor and stepping out of it. She shimmied it over her curves with ease. _It still fits like a glove,_ Veronica thought as she inspected herself in the full-length mirror and smoothed down the front of it. She did always love this dress – the slightly curved neckline that went from shoulder to shoulder, the deep plunge in the back that skimmed over her tailbone, and the colour so dark that it looked almost black under the lights. She recalled how the first time she put it on her mother told her that she looked like a whore in this dress. She didn’t care, she wore it out anyway on that faithful night.

Veronica considered wearing her pearls. This would make it the first time since she relocated. She opened up the velvet box and watched the pearls glimmer under the warm glow of her vanity. It reminded her of the greedy gleam in her father’s eyes whenever he destroyed enough of something to afford them. He used to burst through the door with a string of pearls clutched in hand like it was sustenance – for her or him, she wasn’t sure – and that was how Veronica would know that he had closed a deal. She never knew what the ‘deals’ were. It didn’t matter to her. All she knew was that he was making enough to sustain the opulence they were living in; that was what she cared about. She cared about the latest brand name purse and hanging it off her arm, she cared about brunch at _The Ritz,_ she cared about the snapping her fingers and getting catered to. Veronica cared about a great many things that no longer mattered. She couldn’t stand the weight of them against her throat and yanked them off in disgust. She snatched up the vintage Guerlain that she had knocked over in her fit and spritzed on a healthy dose of the poison.

After that, she strolled over to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of whiskey, neat. She took it back to the bedroom and painstakingly painted her eyes dark bronze, and her lips burnt crimson. She took her hair out and ran her fingers through it. Her curls were shiny but unruly, she didn’t think to tame it. She was tired of taming and being tamed.

When the clock struck seven, she rang up Smithers to bring the car out front and rode the elevator down to the lobby of the Pembrooke. The doorman informed her that ‘Mister Jughead Jones’ was waiting for her outside since he was “unable to smoke inside the lobby.” She smiled at him and muttered a polite ‘thank you’, and stepped out the door he had held open for her.

Jughead was standing cross-legged with his back resting on one of the stone pillars. He was breathing his cigarette smoke and looking off into the sedated traffic. The way he was dressed reminded her of one of those silent but difficult types from those hard-boiled detective novels he liked to indulge in. His thick hair was slicked back with a liberal amount of product but still, a stubborn curl managed to wriggle free and hung over his left eye. He had on a pale blue button-down, which he tucked into the pair of black slacks that would have been too big on him if not for the worn-out leather belt that was holding them up. He left the collar open and from that, she could tell that he had on a thin white tee underneath. The sleeves were neatly rolled up to the middle of his forearms and draping over one of them was his leather jacket. She supposed that was his subdued ‘fuck you’ to Cheryl. There was a misty look to his gaze as he watched a car pull up at the red light around the corner. He almost looked relaxed, it was a rare sight for him.

“Hey”

He angled his body around and gave her a small nod of acknowledgement.

“What? You’re not even going comment on how I look?”

Veronica was only teasing to get a reaction out of him. She knew full well that he was straining his eyeballs to stop them from roaming over her form. 

“I don’t know what it is with you and trying to fish a compliment out of me,” he said and snicked some of the burnt ash from his cigarette, “You get plenty on the regular. I’m sure that will also be the case tonight. Isn’t that good enough?”

It wasn’t. Veronica had a penchant of wanting what she can’t have, and Jughead barely ever gave into flattery. It was most annoying.

“You look nice,” he told her begrudgingly, “More than nice actually, but you knew that.”

She smiled like a cat that got the canary. “You scrubbed up nice yourself.”

“Oh, this old thing? I thought I’d make an extra effort for the extra special occasion of honouring Jason Blossom’s memory.” Jughead joked and motioned lazily at his get-up. He moved forward and eyed her thoughtfully as he asked, “Are you feeling better?”

Veronica blinked. Then it dawned on her that she was not supposed to be in tip-top shape.

“It wasn’t anything that couldn’t be fixed with a good nap and some pills.”

“Any idea what it was?”

She shrugged.

Jughead gave her a side-long glance as Smithers pulled up against the turf with the Lincoln. His hand shot out in front of her and pulled the door open before Smithers could circle around to do it for them. He gave the older man a halting look that made him stay in the driver seat. That made Veronica’s lips curve into a smile.

“Ladies first,” Jughead said gruffly.

Veronica complied and slid into the backseat. He followed suit and shut the door behind them.

“To Thornhill, Miss Veronica?” Smithers asked cordially.

“Yes, please. Thank you,” she replied, equally cordial as she shed off her coat and snuggled into the leather seat.

Jughead settled into his seat beside her and threw her a quick glance. He whistled lowly, “You’re making me feel underdressed in that attire.”

“I can’t very well have a high school boy dress better than I do.”

“Making me feel underdressed is one thing, making the hostess feel underdress on the other hand…”

“She’ll live,” Veronica waved him off dismissively, “I’m sure she’s got some theatrically luxe outfit on right now as we speak.”

“And it’s probably red too,” he added lightly.

She turned in her seat so they were at eye level. “Stay still,” she ordered and reached up to touch his hair, it was slightly damp but still soft enough to touch. She brushed the loose curl back into the stark line of his part, “There, much better.”

Jughead’s hand shot out to grab hers before she could pull away. She gasped and he watched her did so intently. It felt like asphyxiation like life was climbing out of her throat and he was forcing it back down.

“I’d offer to fix you up if there was anything to fix.”

“I’m not perfect.”

Veronica winced, not understanding why she told him that. She never told anybody that before.

“Yeah, well,” he took away his touch, and distantly, he said, “Perfection’s boring.”

* * *

Thornhill looked like it was an Edgar Allan Poe’s creation. Wherever she looked, all she saw was thorns and withering leaves. The cement floor was full of cracks and she wondered if the snake-like vines were the only thing that kept the floors from crumbling beneath their feet. The mansion itself was, in typical Blossom’s fashion, a splendorous architect. Bricks by chipped bricks were laid atop of each other to form a gothic monastery that stood tall within the woods. The front porch was dimly lit by a lone light that flickered against the gust of wind that howled at them whenever it swept by. All the blinds were pulled tightly shut and she imagined an iniquitous presence lurking behind them.

“Jesus Christ, this feels like the opening to an episode of Addam’s family.”

Veronica tried her best not to trip over some uneven clay tiles, her fingers were pinching Jughead’s elbow to keep herself steady.

He hummed his assent. “It seems like an agreeable place to be murdered in, doesn’t it?”

“Murder, in general, is anything but agreeable, Jones.”

“The Blossoms would beg to disagree. It does run in the family after all,” he remarked casually and didn’t hesitate to ring the doorbell.

Surprised, her head flashed sideways. “You know about the family’s tradition?”

“Yes, I know about the killings,” Jughead said coolly and knotted his hands between his back, “That, and the family splitting into two. If you ask me, they left it a bit late. The side effect of long-term inbreeding is starting to show in their youngest, wouldn’t you agree?”

“How?” she asked in a half-scold, half-whisper as they waited for someone to let them in.

“I should be asking you the same thing,” he pulled his head down next to her ear and whispered, “You look more shocked by my impassive attitude than the actual information. I’m guessing Betty told you?”

Veronica felt the word ‘yes’ at the tip of her tongue when the door flew open to reveal Cheryl, dressed in every shade of red imaginable. Sometimes she thinks that the girl should come with an epilepsy warning. She sneaked a glance at Jughead who was squinting to minimize the impact of looking straight at the bombshell.

“Lovely to see that you both could make it,” Cheryl said in a sugary trill, “Although you are late.”

“I would have thought there was a fifteen-minute leeway,” Veronica snipped as Cheryl beckoned them through the door.

“Maybe in New York, dear,” the redhead replied with a disparaging smile, “We have manners over here in Riverdale.”

“Couldn’t agree more, Cheryl,” Jughead interjected flatly as he glanced around the unilluminated corridor, “You think you could show off some more of that impeccable manners by pointing us to wherever it is you keep the drinks?”

Cheryl gave him a snooty once over before giving a terse nod and spun around in her six-inch red bottoms. She led them down the hallway, occasionally pointing out priceless family heirlooms and portraits of her ancestors that weren’t savagely butchered off by their siblings. Veronica wasn’t listening for most parts, she was too busy fighting off her nausea. It was spacious yet crushingly claustrophobic in the way it was laid out. She couldn’t tell if that was intentional or not. The walls groaned with every step that they took, and it sounded like warnings. The moss green carpeting didn’t help either. They reminded her of the corpses of dead trees that surrounded Thornhill like a haunted fortress. She shivered at the vision of creepy, crawling vines, breaking through the cracks of the floorboards, and snaking itself around her ankles. Underneath her, her legs felt as if they were drowning in a mud pool and every step she took was only sucking her in deeper. Maybe she was sick after all.

“Hey,” Jughead placed a cold hand on her spine, “Are you alright?”

His icy touch broke her out of her trance and made her realise that they’ve reached the end of the hall. She could feel the heavy bass of an electro-pop song pounding underneath her McQueen stilettos. A girly half giggle, half screech could be heard from the other side of the door. If Veronica had to guess, she would say that was Melody.

“Yeah,” she aimed a tight smile at him, “I’m fine.”

Cheryl gave her a suspicious look but didn’t say anything as she let them pass through into the guest parlour. Her nose was tickled by the pungent smell of tequila, vodka, and anything high in alcohol content. The room was packed with familiar faces she walked pass every Monday to Friday, except they looked less lethargic and more like they’ve been pumped full with Redbull’s. _It wouldn’t surprise her if that was the case,_ Veronica thought as she looked out the window and saw Reggie Mantle bounce around the backyard with a football, shirtless. Josie and the Pussycat Dolls were standing in the middle of the room, entertaining a group of sophomores boys that were on their way to getting obliterated. The party was in full swing and she wasn’t one to party sober.

“Let’s get a drink,” she told Jughead, snatching up his wrist and dragging him over to the bar.

“Are you sure you’re ok, Lodge?” Jughead asked, his brows furrowed in concern, “You look like you’re in need of a blood transfusion.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she waved off his concern and started rifling through the liquor cabinet.

Jughead shifted uncomfortably in his spot and looked around the room wearily. He must have thought he was subtle when he pressed his back into the edge of the counter and slid over so his body was barricading her from the bottles. “Look, Veronica, if you’re unwell, all you have to do is say the word and we’re out –“

“V!” came a shrill squeal from behind them.

Veronica barely had the time to turn around when a tipsy Betty Cooper launched into her arms. She could smell the stink of the vodka and something sweet – cranberry juice?

“You are late,” Betty half scolded, half slurred, “You got me scared for a second there. I really thought you weren’t going to show, thought you were going to ditch and leave me.”

Betty, despite her inebriated state, looked beautiful. It was as if Walt Disney himself created her for a goddamn princess animation. Her hair was perfectly coiffed into nice buttery yellow ringlets and her top, even with its exposing neckline, managed to look PG-15 on her. The black mini-skirt Veronica had talked her into wearing clung to her milky thighs and her black lace-up boots only highlighted her shapely legs. So where the fuck was Archie exactly? Veronica kept an iron-clad grip on Betty’s arm as she moved her to the side so she could see behind her. No redhead was in sight but a tall brunette was quickly approaching with two cans of Bud Light in hands.

“Yes, yes, Betty. Veronica’s late,” Kevin chided like he would to a little child and pulled Betty off her, “But she’s here now! And Jughead,” his eyes twinkled with amusement as he turned to the raven-haired boy next to her, “I didn’t think we’d be seeing you tonight. Highschool parties don’t really seem like your scene.”

“They’re not."

“Alright then…I see that we’re not big on talking tonight,” Kevin muttered, sounding unimpressed.

“No, no, talking’s good,” Betty mumbled and stumbled into a bar stool, “V, you look so pretty. I love your dress. You always look so pretty. Archie thinks you’re _really_ pretty.” Her pensive eyes suddenly grew as big as saucers when they landed on Jughead, and she yelped, “Juggie! You’re all dressed up! Can’t believe V got you to do it. V can do everything, she always does everything…” she rambled off as her heavy head fell onto Veronica’s shoulder.

“Kevin, you want to grab Betty a glass of water? And maybe make it a big one,” Veronica stressed as she and Jughead exchanged a knowing look and thrust the blonde into the Keller’s waiting arms.

Jughead pounced the moment the pair wandered out of earshot. “As I was saying – “

“We can’t just leave now,” Veronica argued, “Didn’t you see the state Betty was in? I can’t leave her like that.”

“You can. She’s not – “

“Veronica! Wow, you look hot,” Midge Klump gushed as she shoved Jughead out of the way and went in for a tight hug, “Where’d you get the dress? I just love that colour on you!”

“It’s custom made,” Veronica replied coolly and flipped her hair over her shoulder.

“Ugh, well it’s to _die_ for,” Midge gushed some more and yanked open the cabinet door, “Oh, honey, what are you doing without a drink in your hand? Here,” the girl took a bottle of American Honey off the top shelf and set it down on the counter, “Try this. Cheryl hides all the good stuff in the back.”

Midge stood on her tip-toe and reached behind the bar, pulling out two red cups. She was about to pour the whiskey but paused when Veronica needled her with a domineering stare and tilted her head to the side.

Midge woodenly glanced behind her shoulder and asked in a sheepish voice, “Oh hey, Jughead…you want one too?”

Jughead narrowed his eyes at Veronica. “It’s fine, Midge. I can make my own drink.”

“No, he can’t,” Veronica insisted and laid a firm hand on her stiff shoulder, “Pour him a drink, Midge.”

“Sure,” the girl replied breezily, even if there was a note of unease in the way she moved as she added a dash of coke to the drinks, “There you go,” she said woodenly and slid one of the cups over to Jughead who muttered an obligatory ‘thanks.’

Feeling stifled by the silence that hung between Jughead and Veronica as they continued to send each other dirty looks, Midge made some shoddy excuse about Moose waiting for her to bring him back a beer and ran off in such a hurry that some of the drinks spilt over the rim and onto the polished floor.

“You can’t bully people into being nice to me, Veronica."

Veronica grinned at him smugly. “Looks like I can.”

“That doesn’t mean they actually like me,” Jughead muttered into the rim of the cup as he took a generous sip of his whiskey, “Half the guys in this room want to pummel me in the face for daring to breathe the same air as you.”

Jughead wasn’t wrong now that it had been brought to her attention. All eyes were on them like they were a pair of misfits – well, one half of them was. If looks could kill, Jughead would be a pile of screaming ashes by now.

“Poor baby,” she teased and pinched his chin dotingly, “How you must be suffering on the inside to be seen with little old me.”

He scoffed, folding his upper lip under his teeth to prevent a smile from showing as he gently swatted her hand away.

Veronica threw back her drink and held the cup out to him. “Refill, please.”

Jughead rolled his eyes but obliged, topping his off as well.

“I was being serious, Veronica,” he said meaningfully, his baby blue eyes gazing into hers, “We can leave if you’re not feeling a hundred percent.”

She levelled with him. “And I was being serious too when I said I’m doing just fine.”

“Alright, alright,” Jughead put his arms up and relinquished, “I’ll leave it. Here’s a drink to your good health,” he cheers her with his cup and they both swallowed down the amber liquid, “Another one?”

“Jughead Jones,” her painted lips curled into a devious smile as she regarded him in awe, “What happened to not being the party kind?”

“I’m not,” he concurred and began to pour up, “But that doesn’t mean I’m not the drinking kind.”

* * *

Because it was a Blossom party, things got weird. And before it got weird, it got chaotic.

Number one on tonight’s list of chaos was Veronica’s insobriety. That didn’t couple well with the rest of the chaos that was about to ensue.

Veronica was well and truly buzzed after an hour into the soiree. She knew this to be the case because she was finding Jughead’s sarcastic comments to be excessively funny. She also became acutely aware of the fact that he could probably drink her under the table. He had to be much closer to sober than drunk because no matter how many people rudely cut into their private conversation (and it was a lot of people), he never lost his cool. The same could not be said about her; she had already snapped at half the football team and told Chuck Clayton to “go suck a dick” when he attempted to grope her behind. Veronica also knew she was holding a one-way ticket to drunksville because every other word out of Betty’s sulky mouth made her want to ram one of the taper candles Cheryl had lined up against the windowpane down her throat.

Jughead, on the other hand, was uncharacteristically laid back for someone who was hellbent on not coming. Veronica had imagined that he’d be a pain in the ass and would bitch and moan the whole time they were there. She knew that he didn’t like most of the people in the room, and that sense of distaste was mutual. Yet in a complete twist, tonight was probably the most content she’d ever seen him, even if he was spending the majority of it sitting back and watching her socialize with their classmates that barely acknowledged him unless she strongarmed them into it. Jughead, having realised that Veronica was a woman on a mission, decided to let her be. When he came back with their fifth drink, he had resorted to slinging an arm over her shoulder so he could pull her into him whenever he wanted to whisper salacious things to her about the drunken antics of their classmates. 

By nine, Jughead and Veronica had polished off two bottles of aged whiskey between the two of them. She was guffawing at Reggie Mantle who tried to impress her by juggling cans of premix and ended up smacking himself in the head with one. Jughead, even though not nearly as amused, snickered into his beverage when the jock screamed out in pain.

Chaos number two was Archie Andrews.

Kevin deduced that Archie had “officially left the party” after he spotted the redheaded boy disappear down one of the hundred corridors in Thornhill. Veronica would discover in her second hour there that he never left. Archie had been out on the terrace, sharing a bottle of rum with Cheryl Blossom. Talking about an odd couple.

Veronica was staggering to the lady’s room when she saw him scaling the stairs. The first few buttons of his eggshell polo were left undone, revealing a small expanse of his chiselled chest. His bowtie, or it was anyway, was haphazardly shoved into the breast pocket of his deep maroon blazer, and his blazing hair was a few strands away from undone. She had called out to him; a greeting was in order. He put his whole heart into the smile as he met her at the bottom of the winding staircase. She returned it dimly and batted her mascara-coated lashes as she wondered aloud where he’d been all night. He knocked back a can of beer and told her all about his tender moment with Cheryl – the bombshell had tried to bond with him over her twin’s mysterious disappearance and Archie with his hero complex had played right into her hand. Veronica hung off the bannister and played coy as she asked him about Betty – why he wasn’t with Betty, to be precise. Archie sighed and worked his way through the fourth can of his six-pack. He didn’t have any shame in confessing that he’d been avoiding Betty. When Veronica demanded to know why, he had folded her palm between his clammy ones and told her that he couldn’t “deal with it tonight” – whatever that meant. There was an ambivalent pause which Veronica spent thinking of the right thing to say. Archie, however, took that as his chance to lean closer, too close to be friendly. His grip on her hand felt like a steel cuff as he tried to drag her towards him. The gears in her head began to turn and she allowed herself to wonder – what if he kissed her now, what would happen then? She would be lying if she said that she wasn’t curious. He was the ultimate forbidden fruit and she’d been wondering if it would kill to taste him. Perhaps a press of his mouth to hers would quench the temptation for good. Veronica squeezed her eyes shut until a face appeared behind her clenched lids. It wasn’t Archie’s. That was how she knew they should never, _ever_ go there. Veronica belatedly caught Cheryl eavesdropping behind one of the doors as she stormed off despite Archie's retaliation. She contemplated coming clean to Betty about the near hook-up but the blonde was inconsolable as it was; she didn’t want to make the poor girl cry at her first high school blowout too.

Clocking in at close number three was Betty who had taken to binge drinking. This would have been top of the list of chaos if Kevin didn’t think to hide the Adderall.

Tonight, Betty was an unstable mixture of bitter, hurt and jealous. Josie told Ginger who told Trev who told Veronica that Josie had accidentally walked into the bathroom, thinking it was unoccupied, and caught Betty, on her hands and knees in front of the porcelain. They had written it off as her having a bit too much to drink but Veronica knew better. She saw Betty scoff down the four slices of pizza before. Alice Cooper had a rule about what goes in must come out. Archie, typically the answer to all of Betty’s perilous questions, was only adding to the injury tonight. Whenever he saw Betty coming his way, he turned on his heels so fast that Veronica was afraid he would give him whiplash and ran for cover. He’d been unbelievably successful at dodging the blonde thus far. Jughead noticed this abnormal occurrence as well and was the first to notify Veronica when Betty finally had enough and followed Archie out into the hallway. Veronica didn’t give it much thought at first. Then they returned twenty minutes later, separately. The redheaded boy breezed into the room and out to the backyard. Reggie, who couldn’t read the room to save his life, took that as a sign that Archie wanted to go do keg stand where they couldn’t get told off for staining the furniture. Suffice to say, Archie was being dangled by the legs and sucking out of a tap that Moose had forced into his mouth quicker than he could say ‘no.’ Betty watched him do so behind the line of Veronica’s shoulders as she confronted the blonde to see if she was alright. Betty then shot her a glacial glare and shoved her aside as she spat out a “just great.” As if on cue, Jughead stuck a stiff drink into her hand. Veronica probably should have slowed down then, the issue was she couldn’t afford to. 

Unknowingly to the rest of the party, a sort of a domino effect had fallen upon the three of them. Veronica was now evading Archie who was in turn, evading Betty who unbeknownst to Veronica was also evading her. And so, Archie sandwiched himself between Moose and a junior Bulldog player on an expansive velvet couch in the far corner of the lounge. In the opposite corner and next to a grand piano, Betty was permanently occupied by a bottle of cheap Moscato and Kevin’s pandering to the Pussycats as they re-enacted a musical number from ‘Chicago.’ A few feet away, Veronica and Jughead were crowding behind the bar as they rifled through a stash of bourbon in hope of finding a bottle that didn’t smell like cat piss. Neither of them acknowledged the withering glares Archie and Betty sent their way. Some things were better left unsaid, especially when at a rager to honour the hostess’ dead twin.

It all came to a head when the clock struck ten.

“Everybody, gather!” Cheryl announced as she stood up on the mahogany centre table, “I think it’s time we combine my two favourite party games into one and play ‘Spin the Bottle’ with a side of ‘Truth or Dare’.”

And so the weirdness followed.

* * *

Veronica liked party games. One might argue that she liked it too much.

She was always the first to dare and she was the first to accept a dare. Truth was boring, and it was bullshit – no one ever told the truth when it was asked of them. She might have been excited about the prospect of playing spin the bottle if it wasn’t for the group of people she was playing with.

“Come, sit, all of you,” Cheryl barked as the party exchanged sceptical looks and gathered around the fireplace.

The bombshell snatched a bottle of rosé out of a minion’s hand and finished it off with a resounding ‘pop’ as she licked her lips clean of any residue. She laid it down in the middle of the circle with exaggerated are and smiled like a sharpened blade.

“Now, who wants to go first?”

"Me!” Melody volunteered like a lamb up for slaughter and crawled to the middle.

She giggled as she watched the glass bottle spin round and round. It gave Veronica motion sickness.

It landed on Chuck Clayton. Predictably, he asked for a dare.

“I dare you…” the girl thought it over and giggled some more, “To take off your shirt.”

Jughead rolled his eyes next to her. He was probably thinking the very same thought that was crossing her mind – _well, that was an easy one_. The jock grinned lecherously as he pulled his grey t-shirt off and tossed it aside. The room cheered and a couple of girls cooed at the sight of his hard rock abs. Chuck inched forward to spin the bottle, eying her as he did so. She felt her stomach gurgled unpleasantly at his sleazy gaze. It made her think of that last tequila shot and how she should have given it a pass. Much to her relief, the neck of the bottle landed on Cheryl.

Chuck looked gleeful when the redheaded girl settled on a dare.

“I dare Cheryl to play tonsil hockey with me.”

“Ugh, I knew I should have gone with truth,” Cheryl groaned in disgust but tossed her flaming curls over her shoulder to ready herself.

Veronica couldn’t help but give Archie a sidelong glance as Chuck slither over to the bombshell and wrapped his brawny hand over the base of her throat, jerking her up onto her knees for a sloppy smooch. The room watched on uncomfortably as the vulgar scene played out in front of them. Archie stared down into his empty cup, probably wishing he had gotten up for a refill when he had the chance.

“Now that that’s over,” Cheryl screwed her face up in revulsion and wiped off the ring of smeared lipstick with her thumb, “Thank god”

“Do we really have to keep playing this stupid game?” Betty slurred boldly, her face unusually harsh as she took a slow drink of her cocktail.

Cheryl gave her a contemplative look, then snapped. “Yes, Bettykins, we do.”

She reached for the empty bottle and spun it heedlessly. It stopped and pointed to Veronica like the barrel of a gun. 

“Truth or dare?”

It felt like someone had put a bullet in her. Cheryl may ask well have asked her if she wanted to be shot in the head or in the heart. On one hand, she could call for ‘truth’ and lie. She wasn’t above fabrication if it would stop the fact of the matter from coming out, but what if Cheryl knew something? The fucking bitch could blow her cover wide open with one single mention of ‘how’ and ‘why’ Veronica came to be in this town. The alternative wasn’t much better, but she would rather kiss a toad than be cursed for the rest of her life.

“Dare”

Jughead gaped at her in stupefaction. She took the cup out of his hand and brought it to her lips and sipped her own kool-aid.

Cheryl’s blood red-lips parted slowly until her teeth caught the light and glittered like knives. “I dare Veronica to make out with Archie. And none of that child’s play bullshit, I want to see some tongue.”

Betty was silent as a stone woman. So was Veronica and so was Archie.

“No,” Veronica managed to say, then louder again, “No, I’m not doing that.”

Jughead’s eyes flickered over to her then Archie. The two boys stared daggers at each other but neither them said a thing. 

“Now, now, Veronica, don’t be a sore sport,” Cheryl tittered, “A dare is not optional.”

Betty’s acid green orbs darted between Veronica and the boy sitting across from her. Her pale mouth looked like an interlude to a scream.

“You’re trying to set us up,” Veronica snarled, “You just want to use Archie and me to get to Betty.”

“Cheryl, please don’t do this,” Archie begged but the bombshell wasn’t biting, “This is taking it too far – “

“Shut up,” Cheryl bit out so venomously that it made some of the girls jump back in their seats. Her eyes were burning a dark shade of amber as she turned sharply at Archie, and sneered, “Veronica is a big girl. She knew the risks when she picked dare, so don’t you make me the bad guy,” She took a deep breather then cast her steely glance over Veronica, and demanded, “Kiss Andrews. Now.”

Veronica couldn’t look away from Betty who had resolved herself to the betrayal. Her eyes were pools of darkness, yet they were much emptier than darkness.

“I know about your secret love affair, Cheryl,” Jughead revealed suddenly with the blatant ease of someone announcing the weather.

The room watched in stunned silence as Jughead lazily rose from the couch and ambled over to the drink cart. The group was held in suspense but he didn’t look to be in any rush to reveal any more than he already did. His stormy eyes met hers for a split second as he threw back the rest of his bourbon in one gulp. Veronica breathed a quiet sigh of relief. She could tell by the poised line of his smirk that he had something on Cheryl and it was going to shut her up for good. 

Jughead was ruthless when he finished the queen bee off with one last plunge of the proverbial dagger. “So unless you want me to start spilling the beans right here, in your living room – and you know as well as I do that you don’t want me to do that – I suggest you think quick and pick a new dare, and a new set of victims while you’re at it too.”

Cheryl turned her face to him with a sort of lunge. Veronica saw the sharp edge of her jaw stiffen with an unbearable internal struggle. Over in the corner, Betty pushed the bottle against her lips and gurgled at it. Some of the wine ran down her chin. Archie looked like he was itching to wipe the dribble off her greying face.

“Fine, trailer trash,” Cheryl spat viciously, “Have it your way.”

Jughead scoffed and reached behind the cushion she was lounging on for his jacket. His arm grazed against hers as he snagged his fingers around the cracked leather. She had herself convinced that his closeness was circumstantial, but he had to go ruin it by whispering into her ear: “Time to blow, don’t you think?”

Veronica couldn’t be sure if that was a question or an order disguised as one. All she knew was she needed to get as far away from Cheryl, Betty, and Archie as humanely possible. She gave a firm nod and ignored the probing look from Kevin when Jughead pulled her to her feet by the wrist, his calloused fingers rough on her skin. They slipped out of the room without so much as a word, she didn’t even think they said goodbye. He held onto her firmly as they trudged down the unlit halls of Thornhill. Veronica squinted against the darkness, she couldn’t see ahead of them but immediately recognized the shine off the glass cabinet Rose Blossom used to store her collection of creepy spider figurines.

“Hang on, my coat,” she croaked, her fingers slipping through his as she turned down the corridor and into the cloakroom.

She felt around the cloth wallpaper until she found the light switch. Her ankle-length pearl coat was pushed to the far left and squished between Reggie Mantle’s leather bomber and Josie McCoy’s lamb’s wool sweater coat. She hastily took it off the hanger and threw it on. She stumbled out the door, having tripped over the carpet while trying to do up the belt around her waist.

“Jug?” Veronica hissed once she was standing in the middle of the hall, “Where are you?”

She blew out a glum breath and noticed that the door to the storage under the staircase was left ajar. _That’s odd,_ Veronica frowned as stretched her hand out towards the golden knob. Her fingers barely grazed the brass when something latched onto her forearm and hauled her inside.

“What the fuck – “

She felt something solid and cold clasped around her mouth before she could scream down the roof. Immediately, her nostrils were filled with the comforting scent of sandalwood, mint, and stale tobacco. It was Jughead.

Veronica relaxed into his hold and he did the same with the hand over her mouth. Her exposed back was pressed into his chest, she could feel his heartbeat quickening but at what exactly? Jughead must have felt her jaw slack because he was quick to hush her with a firm press of his finger to her lips. He steered her over to the wall on their right. Veronica had to wait a split second for her eyes to adjust to the beam of light that was bleeding through a hole about the size of a baseball. Unlike the rest of the house, the panel was made entirely out of bare, scarred wood and the circular hole in the middle of it was covered up with what looked like a dusty layer of tinted cellophane. Veronica squinted against the hole and saw a distorted swirl of what looked like a woman, perched on the edge of an old work desk with her back turned to them. Her auburn hair was gathered up in an elaborate bun and pinned to the nape of her neck with a butterfly clip emblazoned with three emerald stones. Standing on the other end of the table was a burly looking man in a fitted leather jacket. The position of the hollow in the wall made it impossible for her to see the man’s face. She could only see him from the chin down and even that was mostly covered up by his tangled up beard. There was a fat white envelope sitting on the desk. The man didn’t reach out to take it, and the women didn’t either. She quickly realised that they were peeking into another room of the mansion. She wasn’t entirely sure that it was a smart idea to spy on a Blossom. Although it was probably too late to be having that thought.

A minute ticked by before the man broke the silence.

“Don’t worry, the pictures won’t see the light of day. The bitch was quaking in her boots when I told her that I know where she’s been hiding the daughter.”

“Good to hear,” the woman said and crossed one leg over her knee, “Now take your money and get out. You’re stinking up the house with your rotten presence.”

Some heavy shuffling echoed throughout the room that was bare of any furniture other than the table itself. It looked nothing like the rest of Thornhill which was heavily cluttered by all sorts of antiques. Jughead pressed further into her, his chin barely grazing her shoulder as he levelled his gaze with the bizarre hole they’d stumble upon. His face was hovering so dangerously close to hers that she could feel the heat radiating off his cheek and the uneven puff of his breath down the back of her neck. Veronica shook off the irksome twisting in her ribcage and focused on the thick, trunk-like arm that was slowly inching into eyeshot until it dug its dirty fingernails onto the offering on the table. As quickly as the arm appeared, it retreated once the man had the envelope in his possession. She heard the deep rumbling of a chuckle but that was cut short by a sharp ‘click’ when the woman opened up the cigar box beside her and pulled out a handgun. Jughead slapped a hand over her mouth just in time for the women to aim and fire. There was a muffled ‘bang’ then a strangled sound. Veronica couldn’t tell if that was her or the burly stranger in the other room. She got her answer when she heard a heavy thud of what she assumed to be a lifeless body dropping to the floor. She tried to move but she couldn’t. It was the same unfeeling from this morning when she tried to wiggle her toes. Stuck on pause, Veronica was forced to watch as the woman exchanged the gun for a cigar and held it up to her nose, inhaling deeply as she did so. She cut open one end just like her father showed her all those years ago. Veronica never felt more petrified as an audience to something as ordinary as the act of smoking. The choking from the other side of the room eventually died out, and the silence that followed was possibly the most frightening sound she’d ever heard. Jughead must have felt her give out against him because he nimbly threw her arm that now felt like jelly over his shoulder and pulled her upright. His thumb pressed down on her hammering pulse and Veronica felt the heel of her shoes catch on the carpet as he yanked her out the closet. 

By the time they made it out the front door, Veronica was clinging onto him. They didn’t dare slow their steps until they reached the end of the driveway. Jughead hauled her along like a dead animal and forced her limb body through the narrow gates of Thornhill. Once they were outside, he clumsily pushed her chin up and made her look at him. The action reminded her of how she did the same to him earlier this evening. It was fun then, maybe even coy. The gesture stung now, her skin felt like broken capillaries under his fingers. His seafoam eyes came down slowly and studied her. It was almost daunting how calm he was.

“Told you things would get nefarious,” Jughead said with heavy clogged voice.

That filled Veronica with an irrational impulse to strike him but somehow in her throe of mixed emotions, she ended up hurling all over his dress shoes. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took much longer than I anticipated, so I apologize for that. I really wanted to write a chapter from Jughead's POV and thought that since we've gotten this far in the fic, it may as well be now. I didn't want his narrative voice to be too similar to Veronica's so there was a lot of editing, deleting and being unsure of what to include. To make up for the delay, this chapter is extra long! Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this because I don't think I'll be writing another chapter from Jughead's POV in a long while. This is basically a trial to see if it was doable for the later chapters lol 
> 
> As always, thanks for all the comments and kudos you leave me. I appreciate every one of my readers and the support really motivates me to keep going even when I struggle my ass off to continue to writing (this chapter being a prime example lol).

Boy meets girl. Boy made girl witness to a possible murder. Now boy got said girl’s vomit all over his only good pair of shoes.

It was a nice little story. 

Jughead bunched her inky locks up in his fist and held it back. Veronica retched until her face turned an angry shade of red and nothing more came out. She stood there with her sharp nails digging into her kneecaps, heaving over the puddle of her spew until her breathing slowed. That was one of the many odd things about her, he found – she never got sad, not if she could get mad instead. She wiped the thin layer of cold sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand, then the same with her mouth. It ruined the crisp line of her pout but she didn’t seem to care.

“Mint” Veronica croaked, still crouching.

Jughead took his hand out of his pocket and trailed her fingers under her jaw so he could cup her face. He was careful as he brought her gaze up to level with his own. Too quick of a movement and he’d risk her throwing up all over again. Her eyes were glassy but not from tears, and the dark rim under her eyes no longer looked deliberate. His thumb pressed down on the soft bit of her cheek and turned her to the left, then right. He thought she would have swatted him away by now but he could tell by the way her head was slightly lolling back against his grip that she was too tired to fight him. No, she wasn’t obliterated, or sick. He’d been afraid that she wasn’t lying about that too and was truly down with something. She was just in shock, he could deal with that.

Jughead gave a gentle slap to her cheek and she snarled in response. Good, at least that told him that Veronica was floating around somewhere in the old brain bunker.

“You’re not going to faint on me, are you, Lodge?” he tried his hand at a joke and passed her a stick of gum.

Veronica shook her head adamantly and peeled off the wrapper. Then she closed her eyes. They twitched a little. She decided to speak with them closed. “We need to get out of here.”

“Already on it”

Jughead rolled a cigarette around in his finger and lit it and hated the taste of it.

Something must have come over Veronica as she stood there watching it burn because she held the gum out to him and asked: “Trade you?”

His track record of saying ‘no’ to her had been pretty poor as of late so he flicked open then pack and offered it to her. Her bloody manicure looked stark against the cigarette, so did the purple of her lips when she puckered around it. He shielded the fluttering flame with his palm and held it up to her chin. The spot of light illuminated her heart-shaped face, her olive skin was still slicked with perspiration and a few strands of raven hair stuck to her cheekbones. Jughead swore he’d never seen anyone look so disgustingly beautiful after upchucking. He’d come to understand this to be a trait unique to only Veronica; the girl always looked put together even when she wasn’t.

She blew some smoke through her nose and tilted her head back. It accentuated the soft yet firm lines of her throat. He could tell that she had smoked before. She’d always looked the type to try everything at least once so that didn’t surprise him.

“I’ll buy you a new pair,” Veronica vowed without looking at him.

The message was loud and clear – she didn’t want to talk about it now. An apology would have been nice but he didn’t expect it. Veronica didn’t like to be in the wrong, he knew that. Intentionally or not, she managed to get most of the sick on the cobblestones and only a small amount on the toe box of his shoes. He thinks he scraped most of it off with the round edge of the curb when he had his fingers tangled in her curls.

Veronica was a quick and precise smoker, Jughead observed. She hardly bothered to tap off the excess ash, too focused on getting as much of a nicotine hit as possible and as quickly as she could.

“Slow down,” Jughead warned, “You’re going to get light-headed soon if you don’t quit it.”

She didn’t listen and kept going through the smoke at the same rapid pace. He smirked and shook his head ruefully. She can be so goddamn stubborn.

The two of them stood there for five or ten minutes, he couldn’t be sure. Veronica’s cigarette had long burned out and she took to distracting herself by grinding it to a pile of ash with the sole of her designer heels. He considered offering her another one just so she would stop.

“Is that our ride out of here?”

Jughead followed her line of gaze and saw a pair of floating headlights coming towards them. He could hear the tired groan of the engine from all the way down the road. The squeak of the tires was swallowed in the evening fog and mercifully left him with a shred of dignity. He did plan to get that looked at on the weekend. He just didn’t account for tonight to go awry or to be picked up in FP’s truck.

“Yeah, it is,” he affirmed with a quick nod.

He ground his teeth at the yodelling of country music that was blaring out the small gap of window. The truck pulled up smoothly near the soft moist turf, the music switched off but the lights stayed on. Veronica gave him a suspect look and motioned for him to go first. 

Jughead rolled his eyes as he circled over to the passenger side and pried open the door.

“Thanks for coming. I know it was out of the way for you.”

“Nah, man, it’s all good,” the brunette smiled good-naturedly and motioned him to get in the car, “Let’s beat it before one of those weirdo Blossoms come out. They give me the creeps.”

Jughead chuckled stiffly and caught himself before he could replay the mental tape of Penelope Blossom shooting who he could only assume was Tall boy. He’d always known that it was only a matter of time before someone finally sent the bastard to an early grave. That was bound to happen when you have alliances with every shady figure in town. Not such a tough guy now, was he?

“Did you bring the stuff?”

“Oh yeah, man,” the boy absentmindedly and reached under his seat. He pulled out a grocery bag and a plastic water bottle filled up a quarter of the way.

“You couldn’t have gotten a full bottle?” Jughead asked, quirking a brow at him as he took them both out of his hands.

“Sorry, bro. I didn’t have any lying around the house,” he apologized with a sheepish shrug and glanced around the empty road. He covered the split leather seat with his body and in a conspiratorial hush, he asked, “Is it true that she only drinks bottled mineral water?

“No,” Jughead couldn’t hold in a snort and cast his gaze over to the girl in question, “Her highness isn’t as picky as she looks.”

He waved her over and Veronica obliged, even if she didn’t look too enthusiastic about it. Her steps faltered once she was a half a foot away from the door. She was almost timid as she stuck her head out and peered into the vehicle.

“Hey, how are you doing on this lovely night?” the dark-haired boy greeted chipperly, “Nice to meet you! I’m Fangs by the way.”

“Is Fangs your legal name? If the answer is ‘yes’, then I’ve got another question do all parents on the Southside hate their kids?”

Jughead hauled her in by the knot she’d made with her arms over her chest and whispered into the mass of her smooth curls, “Make this easy for me and just get in the car, yeah?”

Veronica gave him a pinched smile and turned to Fangs with the same feigned expression as she heedlessly pushed against his shoulder blade to boost herself up into the seat. He winced at her rough treatment and tossed the bottle of water into her lap.

“Veronica Lodge,” she introduced herself with the haughty sense of self-importance he could never decide if he adored or abhorred, “Nice to meet you too.”

Jughead resisted the urge to groan at her precociousness as he climbed in after her and slammed the door shut, “Let’s just go.”

“Cool,” Fangs nodded and stepped on it.

He slumped against the seat and took the Doc’s out of an old shopping bag. He could feel Veronica’s queer gaze on him as he kicked off his ruined shoes and pulled on his trusty boots. She was always fascinated by the most prosaic of things, he thought and pushed the heel of his shoe against the edge of the seat. She watched him double up on the lacing and promptly lost interest once Fangs switched over to the next radio station.

“Ooh, I love No Doubt!” Veronica exclaimed with fervour.

“Same here!” Fangs readily agreed and cranked up the volume, “Gwen’s a fucking legend.”

Fangs pulled over at the yellow light and fumbled around his seat, eventually pulling out a slim silver flask. Jughead saw Veronica’s brown eyes darkened at the shiny sight. Fangs jerked off the stopper and brought the neck of it to his lips. Immediately, the cheap scent of Hermosa Lodge’s rum mix and vanilla cola attacked his nostrils.

“Christ,” Jughead grumbled as he plucked the water bottle out of her lap and uncapped it. He tried to pour it down her throat but she pushed him away with the sharp edge of her elbow, “Would you have some water? I didn’t make Fangs drive it down for nothing.”

“Oh hush, I don’t need the H20,” she swatted him off like an afterthought, “Fangs, do you think you could share amongst the masses?”

The traffic flickered green and Fangs pushed the flask into Veronica’s waiting hand as he stepped on the pedal. They made an abrupt right turn, the tires screeched against the damp bitumen like a couple of banshees. Veronica laughed as the back of her skull smacked into his chest. Right away, she nestled into him like she’d always belonged there. It often felt that way whenever she entered the orbit of his personal space. It was what initially annoyed him most about her. She sauntered around town like she was meant to be here. A more simple-minded person might have been convinced that that was indeed the case. It wasn’t though. She was an intruder and a traveller. She had the option to leave whenever she wished to, he didn’t.

Jughead wrapped a sturdy arm around her shoulder to hold her still and inched forward to switch station. Fangs made a sound of protest but Veronica was ecstatic with the change in music. The deep baritone voice of Johnny Cash blared out the gravelly stereo and the raven-haired girl jovially sang along to the chorus of ‘Understand Your Man’ like it was second nature to her. That was another thing about Veronica that used to bother him; he couldn’t pin her down. She was neither ‘this’ or ‘that’; she was something that most people couldn’t even begin to understand.

Veronica started to hum along to the punk rock tune and sipped leisurely out the flask. Some of it dribbled down her plump bottom lip, she didn’t seem to care and flicked her tongue out to taste it.

“Jones,” she turned at him sharply, her dark eyes appraising him with laser-like precision, “You’re yet to reveal where we’re heading.”

“Your place.”

Veronica’s brown eyes flashed at him tempestuously. That confused him, he would have thought she’d be ecstatic to hear that.

Fangs hummed dubiously and pushed his foot down on the brake as yellow light flickered red. “Hmmm…Jughead, would you say that her place is on the way to the Wyrm?”

“No,” he replied, confused with the oblique undertone to his question, “Why?”

“Uh…cause we’re kinda heading that direction.”

Jughead narrowed his eyes.

“I know, man, I’m sorry!” Fangs apologised profusely as he took a right turn down the back road, “I – “

He didn’t hear the rest of the sob-story. It became muffled the instant he was blinded by the fast-approaching white lights. He thought he saw Fangs’ mouth moves – form vowels, form noises, form apologies, but all he really saw was flashes of his dad. FP in the driver seat, speeding down the road and telling him about the construction work he did with Fred that afternoon. Then FP sitting where he was now, guzzling down beer and babbling abusive nonsense. He tried to shake himself out of the tormented trance but as he caught sight of the rear-view mirror, he saw a crying child staring back at him. The child was him, he realised with a sickening feeling, they’ve been down this road too many times to count.

“Turn around.”

Fangs blanched. “W – what?”

“Turn the fucking truck around,” he growled and tried to climb over Veronica to do it himself.

“It’s a one-way road, man,” Fangs explained in a frazzled voice, “We can’t turn around now. That van is coming right at us! If I turn around now, we’re gonna crash.”

“I don’t fucking care.”

“Fangs is right,” Veronica’s shrill voice cut through his haze of monstrous rage that had possessed him as she clawed at the sleeve of his jacket, “You’re going to kill all of us if you don’t sit down this instant. You’re acting insane!”

She poked a sharp nail into his back and it was as if he was a gassed up balloon, inflating. He felt himself go limp as Veronica yanked him back down next to her. He looked on helplessly as the SUV sped past in an indiscernible blur. Her hand slid down the crook of his elbow and he briefly considered flinging it off so he could impress upon her just how much shit they were now in. She’d freak out then, as she rightfully should.

“I know we said we’d drop her off at the Pembrooke, then you’d come with me to the Wyrm, but Pea’s been up my ass for running late the last couple of times,” Fangs rattled off like his excuses mattered, “If I show up late again today, he’s going to snitch to Hog Eye and you know he’ll use that as an excuse to cut my pay at the Wyrm in half.”

“You couldn’t have told me all this on the phone?!” Jughead seethed, “You fucking know as well as I do that we can’t have her hanging around on Southside on initiation night.”

Sudden panic flamed all over his face. “You guys can just stay in the car. I – I’ll just hop out when we get there and you can drive her back North. Easy!”

“Easy?!” he heard his voice roar without meaning to, “Driving pass the tracks isn’t going to be easy when it’s fucking lined with an army of worked-up Serpents. They’re going to see FP’s truck and know exactly who’s driving,” he felt Veronica flinched beside him but he was too puffed up with anger to care, “Do you realise what you’ve done?! She’s stuck here for the night and if she tries to leave, I guarantee you that one of the bad seeds is going to see it as a golden opportunity to have some fun and take advantage of her chequebook.”

“I don’t need this bullshit from you!” Fangs snapped gratingly, “You think you’re so much better than the rest of us because you’ve managed to avoid joining! Well, guess what? Good for you! But I did you a favour by coming to get you two in the dead of the night, so I guess you’re just going to have to deal with it.”

He could barely breathe through his fury. “Fuck you”

“Oh ok. Fuck you too, man.”

“Both of you, please! Shut up!”

Jughead stared at Veronica blankly. He realised that he’d never heard her raise her voice before. Until tonight, he’d never seen her as anything but poised. This was the same girl that casually breezed into the room and lied to Weatherbee like she was here to sell him girl scout cookies.

“Thank you,” Veronica muttered under a heavy sigh and pushed a curl out of her face, “All this back and forth is making it hard for me to think.”

“Look, I’m really sorry Veronica,” Fangs offered solemnly after a beat of silence, “I probably should have thought about it a bit more.”

He snorted loudly. “Well, too late now. Isn’t it?”

“Jughead!” She scolded as they hit the speed bump with too much force that she had to dig her nails into his arm to keep herself from flying out of her seat, “He said he’s sorry. Just cut it out, okay?”

“Why should I?” he asked, irked by how much compassion she was showing to the numbskull.

Veronica pressed so far into him that he felt like he was smothering under a heady blanket of jasmine. She gazed up at him, and he saw her eyes softened. It always fascinated him to see the sharp corners of her fox-like eyes fall. No one ever crumbled for him like she did, not even his own mother.

“I can tell by the way you’re yelling that you’re scared and that’s scaring me.”

Something left him then, he felt lighter just from that one look. He didn’t know what it was – the anger he felt for Fang’s lack of foresight, the frustration he had for himself, the fear that she’d hate him for putting her in danger, twice now. All he knew then was that they were going to be okay because she was here with him. It didn’t make sense. He’d come to accept that a lot of things didn’t with her.

Jughead felt Veronica’s long elegant fingers brushed against his palm as she weaved them with his and held him like she had his heart in her hand. She nestled into the crooked of his neck, the soft edge of her chin tickled his pulse as she gently whispered into his ear, “Can’t we go back to yours for the night? We’d be safe there, won’t be?”

He didn’t want to. God knows, he’d rather anywhere but the trailer. This would have to add to the sky-high tally on the times he was unable to tell her ‘no.’

* * *

Jughead made her wait in the cold for five minutes so he could do a quick tidy-up. He realised shortly after that it wasn’t going to make a difference. He still lived in a shitty trailer with shitty furniture and shitty heating. He could drop to his hands and knees and scrubbed every inch of the place but it would never be a five-star hotel.

He snapped the screen door unhooked and nudged it open. Veronica heard the creak and swivelled around, her cheeks were bruised from the wind and her eyes were smudged. Somehow she managed to look even more breathtaking than she did at the start of the night. He could see why Archie wanted to trade some fists over her.

“Hey,” Veronica mustered a small smile.

“Hey,” he echoed, “Come in”

She nodded and did so. She delicately stepped through the door. Immediately, the place looked smaller in her presence. She always managed to make everything look immaterial in comparison.

Jughead stopped himself from fiddling with the zipper of his jacket and shrugged it off, dumping it on the lived-in couch. He tried to cover up the protruding spring with one of the throws but she was keen to detail, she’d notice sooner or later. Veronica slowly wandered over to the miniature bookcase and ran her fingers over the spines of some books he had collected over the years. Then she did the same with all the dusty record sleeves that were more or less in tatters. He saw her smile then, it was crooked and it was comforting.

“I like it,” Veronica told him earnestly as she glanced down at the messy coffee table and bent over to pick up a VHS tape he forgot to put away, “Who still watches these?”

“Me,” he said a touch too quick, “We never got around to buying a DVD player.”

She formed a silent ‘oh’ with her lips. “Well, all of this is very you.”

“What? Living in a run-down trailer that’s probably smaller than your bedroom?”

He didn’t mean to sound aggravated, it just came off that way. It must have registered that way to her because it immediately etched a frown into her face.

“No, I mean the second-hand books and the obsolete mode of technologies you choose to indulge in.”

Jughead knew he should apologize for the imprudent attitude but all he did was hold her stoic gaze until she dropped it. He was stubborn like that, she knew that too.

“We should talk about what happened tonight.”

“Which part?” he asked thickly, “The part where we accidentally witnessed a murder? Or the part where my friend was too stupid to follow simple instructions?”

He saw her swallow with some difficulty. “The first part. We don’t need to rehash the part where you couldn’t accept his apology.”

Jughead narrowed his eyes. “Fine”

There was suddenly a loud bang that came outside the trailer. He didn’t have to peek out the door to know that someone had knocked over one of the empty oil drums. He saw Veronica jump a little at the noise and squeezed her eyes shut as the tirade of maniacal laughter followed. He made the convenient assumption that it was a bunch of Serpents, high off all the blood that was about to be shed at the initiation. He hadn’t even got wind of who was stupid enough to join the ranks tonight. Whoever that unlucky bastard should put his last two brain cells together and run while he still had the chance. The gang life wasn’t for everyone, although most liked to think they were the right fit.

Veronica sighed and in a manner so unlike her, she looked around awkwardly. “Can we get something to drink? I don’t think I can have this discussion sober.”

He nodded. He couldn’t agree more.

Jughead duct into his room and opened the deep drawer on his bedside table and got out an almost full bottle. When he returned to the living room, Veronica had made herself at home and was flipping through his copy of ‘Slaughterhouse-five’ with waning interest. She was sitting pretty on the couch with her legs tucked under and had kicked off her impossibly high heels, leaving them splayed on his mother’s afghan rug. He gave himself a moment to admire her from behind the plaster wall. He thought she looked at home, although he couldn’t be certain that that was how she felt. Veronica was good at pretending even when she didn’t need to. She didn’t bother to look up but he assumed she heard him click on the light in the kitchen. He pulled two glasses out of the top cabinet and set them down on the counter. As if on cue, Veronica swung her legs to the floor and stood up with her eyes muddied with exhaustion. He sneaked a look at her impenetrable face as he poured a stiff jolt into each and held one out to her.

Veronica sniffed her drink delicately. She screwed up her nose, probably from the stink of alcohol. She watched him throw his back carelessly before she swallowed hers.

“There’s syrup in this, the drugstore kind.”

He turned the bottle around to show her the label.

The line of her shoulders shook with sardonic laughter. “No wonder why it tastes cheap.”

“The cheap kind is the only kind I can afford, unfortunately.”

She ignored his self-deprecating remark and pushed the glass over. “I’ll drink anything with a sting to it.”

Jughead poured her at least two fingers of the caramel liquid. She emptied her glass in a flash and put it down beside his.

“So,” she started with a note of uneasiness, “I heard a murder is supposed to bring people closer.”

“That’s death.”

She shrugged. “Does watching one occur not count?”

“Jesus Veronica,” Jughead blew a breath and raked his fingers through his mussed hair, “Can’t you be serious for a minute?”

“What?” she turned sharply at him, her eyes darkened until they appeared to be all pupils, “What do you want me to say? Someone got killed tonight and we saw it happen. We shouldn’t have because we shouldn’t have been sneaking around in someone else’s home, but alas. Do you want to call the cops, Jughead? What do _you_ want to do about it?”

That last two questions alone made him pour another round of Hermosa’s second-rate rum. They couldn’t call the cops. He knew it was Penelope Blossom that pulled the trigger and he knew it was Tallboy that was looking down the barrel of her gun. He knew too much that it was now a burden on the soul. It wasn’t an ideal circumstance, especially when he owed the Blossoms his silence. They were all playing chicken, waiting to see who would squeal first to the cops. He wasn’t going first on the chopping block, that was for sure. He was as good as a mute until the memories of Jason Blossom get drowned out by the mind-numbing backdrop of life in Riverdale. He looked across the bench and saw Veronica pick at the thread of her coat. What was _her_ reason for not calling the cops? The natural, humane response to seeing a murder was to dial 911. That wasn’t Veronica’s though, hers was to spew all over the Blossom’s driveway and keep it hushed until they were left alone. Something wasn’t right with Veronica. He’d always thought so since that day at Sweetwater River. She just made it so easy to forget.

“Are you angry at me?”

Her brown eyes widened and for a moment he thought they looked moist. She took her lower lip between her teeth and held it there as she stared a hole into the chipped benchtop.

“No,” Veronica denied like she’d resolved herself to that fact, “Why would I be?”

His knuckles turned white around the glass. “Because if I hadn’t been so goddamn nosy back at Thornhill, you’d probably be safely tucked into your bed by now and we’d be none the wiser about what we witnessed tonight.”

“Right, and we wouldn’t be debating whether we should call the authorities or not,” she muttered and each word out of her lips cracked him like a whip, “I don’t blame you. You couldn’t have known. It’s just fucked up that it happened, that’s all,” she uncrossed her legs, switched sides then announced in a deadly quiet voice, “We should pretend we never saw it. Evidently, there are dangerous people lurking around every corner of this town. Let’s not put ourselves on their hit-list.”

He smirked. “That’s not like you to beat around the bush.”

“Excuse me?”

“Dangerous people?” Jughead scoffed and downed the liquid then waited for her to do the same, “You can say the Blossoms, you know. It doesn’t work the same way as it does with the bogeyman, I’ve tried.”

She looked genuinely struck by his comment. He didn’t understand why.

“That was Penelope?”

Jughead rolled the alcohol on his tongue. Then, “You couldn’t tell?”

She shook her head woodenly. “No, I saw the hair but anyone could be a redhead with a good colourist.”

“The hairclip,” he kept his process of deduction simple, “It’s a Blossom heirloom. Cheryl used to take it to school so she could boast to the other kids about how her great grandfather stole the emeralds from some pirates.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound plausible,” Veronica said sourly and gobbled down another three fingers of the poison, “Although I’m hardly shocked to hear that it was Penelope. I imagined you’re capable of cold-blooded murder if you can stomach killing your own offspring.”

Jughead could feel his face getting stiff. He thought hard over why she had come to the conclusion that the Blossom was responsible for their son’s disappearance. They weren’t suspects the last he heard. Then he realised that like him, she’d also been doing her own snooping around town. She knew something about the family that spoiled their innocence.

He poured himself a fast drink and burned his throat getting it down. “The Blossoms didn’t kill Jason.”

Veronica’s hand shook as if it was going to fly to her mouth but it only got half-way then fell back slowly to her side and her eyes widened. It all matched up as elements of genuine surprise, but something was missing. She wasn’t a phoney, she acted it sometimes but she wasn’t any good at it when she didn’t mean to put it on. 

Veronica leaned forward and scraped her manicure slowly across the acrylic of the benchtop. He thought she might have been reaching for his touch.

Her voice came out of her mouth sounding like a worn-out record. “Do you know who did?”

Jughead sighed and pulled away. He went across to the misty window and opened it. He let in the noise of the midnight train that came in waves, like nausea. He rested against the sink and shoved a hand into his pocket. He pulled out a badly creased packet of Marlboro, pulled one out, and tossed the rest on the bench. It landed right next to Veronica’s glass, she grimaced in disapproval and poured herself another stiff drink.

“Anything you want to share with the class?” she mocked his words from an eternity ago and it made his mouth pull into a taut smile.

“I don’t know who killed Jason,” Jughead told her plainly as he flicked on a flame and moved towards it until the butt of his cigarette caught fire. He took a long drag and felt good enough to continue, “I know the Blossoms didn’t do it. They were here, with me, when Jason went missing. I’d say that makes for a pretty air-tight alibi, wouldn’t you?”

Her eyes showed curiosity, not sympathy. She screwed them shut and snapped them open again as if attempting to rid of the reckoning within them. He could tell that Veronica wasn’t commiserating Jason’s death, she just wanted to find out who-dun-it. He couldn’t blame her, he wasn’t sorry about it either.

“They came over that morning to offer me money to cover the legal fees my old man was guaranteed to rack up with the trial,” he said, “In exchange, they’d like for me and my dad to keep their son’s name out of the investigation.”

“Did you take it?”

“Yes”

He didn’t owe her an explanation but nevertheless, he found himself providing one. “It didn’t matter that Jason was a hypocrite or that he got my dad locked up. We didn’t have that kind of money lying around and FP was going to need it if he wanted a fighting chance at doing anything less than a life sentence.”

She nodded and averted his gaze.

Veronica gingerly rose from her seat and took her time sauntering over to him. She had her hands knotted behind her back, the dark polish was stark against the olive of her bare flesh. He saw her nimble fingers splay over each other like an elaborate braid as she swivelled around on her feet and turned to the window. She basked in the glow of the moonlight for a few seconds, she had her eyes shut and her smile was quaint. He would hate to have to pull her away from the light but initiation should have started by now and it was safer if no one knew she was here. He was the ruler's son but he couldn’t keep out of all the snakes.

“Veronica”

She turned to him with the hazy afterglow of a little too much bubbly. Her lipstick-stained mouth curled into a blurred smile as she hummed and glided over to the row of drawers. She pressed her back into the bench, then held the barely filled glass up to her abdomen.

“Jughead”

Veronica didn’t bother asking for a smoke, she just got herself one and put out an expectant hand. He held back a scoff and carefully threw her the zippo.

Jughead had to wonder if the Veronica he held so dear to his heart was a caricature of his own twisted imagination. Sometimes he had to pause so he could rewire his brain and see her for who she really was – a high school girl, the new girl in town, the only girl in his life. She didn’t only live on the pages of his novel but she did make for a hell of an inspiration. There was warmth underneath all that supercilious grace she had to her that he didn’t he would ever come across outside of the silver screen. It was as enigmatic as it was lethal.

“What about Cheryl?” Veronica asked, a dark curl dangerously close to the fire. She yanked it away abruptly and set the lighter down next to the empty dishrack.

Jughead shook his head before she could finish sounding out her name. “Cheryl loved him too much. I’ve been told that jealousy is a good motive but the bond between those two probably ran so deep that it likely stopped her from going there.”

She nodded, slow, and unconvinced. “Do you think it’s still a good idea to rule out Penelope even after what we saw tonight?”

“What we saw tonight is a killing but it’s not Jason’s,” he said emptily, “It’s a separate homicide now.”

“How can you be sure that she didn’t hire something to do the dirty work?”

That question made him pause. Not because he hadn’t thought about it hundreds of times before, but because Veronica shouldn’t have been putting any thought to it at all. Why is she worrying her pretty little head over this anyway?

“I’m not,” he said crisply and blew a fan of smoke, “I’ve considered that too but I can’t see Penelope agreeing to murder her own son. The way I see it, that’s hers and Clifford’s favourite child. Plus, they don’t have a real motive.” Jughead sighed and hoped he wouldn’t come to regret this later as he ground out his cigarette in the ashtray, “Now is probably a good time to show you…”

Veronica quirked a brow but trailed a few steps behind him as he strode down to the end of the narrow corridor. He fumbled around the wall for the light switch and felt her stop beside him under the threshold to his father’s bedroom. He thought it a bit insolent of her to take the smoking back here without asking first if that was okay, but that was Veronica for you. The bulb struggled to stay on and flickered irritatingly against the eerie darkness of the humble space. She didn’t wait for the halogen to shine over them and strode past him into the room. She nearly tripped over the janky legs of the board and he heard her huff as she found her footing.

“You did all this yourself?” She breathed out a ring of smoke, her arms tightly wound over her chest as she squinted at an older clipping that he’d pinned to the corkboard.

Jughead nodded as he came up from behind her. He could still smell the jasmine in her hair but there was a bite of tobacco to it this time. He thought that the drugging smell might haunt him for the rest of his years.

“I have a lot of time on my hand.”

She spun around. He only noticed now how much smaller she was without her heels on. Her short height didn’t seem to hinder how her existence swallowed up everything else around her. A loose curl dangled over her cheekbone and he had to resist the urge to sweep it aside. There was a dazzling grin on her face as she looked up at him, he tried to coach himself to breathe through it.

“Albeit, it is a tad stalkerish but no, seriously, this is…” she trailed off and took q quick glance over her shoulder, “Comprehensive and unbelievably detailed. How long did it take you to put all of this together?”

Jughead knew he should have lied and said six months, instead he told the truth: “I’ve been at it since I was fourteen.”

She frowned. “But that was before Jason’s disappearance.”

“It was originally to help keep track of the timeline for all the writing,” he mumbled into the rim of his glass and took a speedy drink, “Then Jason went missing and it turned into this.”

He wasn’t proud of _this_. There were times where he looked around and saw the things that kids his age got up to – they bro’d out over a video game, they kicked some balls, they scored some ditzy girl, they drank beer and watched NFL. Whenever FP got drunk enough, he would yell at him for being a “fucking weirdo” and scrunched up whatever newspaper clippings he could get his hands on. He knew he wasn’t supposed to spend his youth stuck inside so he could add the most inconsequential things to a string theory board about the small, dreary town he grew up in. He couldn’t stop but he knew he was meant for more. Then Jason happened, it gave him the purpose he’d been looking for.

Veronica flicked gently at one of the strings with a post-it that had ‘Bulldog drama’ scribbled onto it. “Why is this one connecting Jason to Chuck Clayton?”

“Chuck tried to get Jason kicked off the football team last year.”

Interest flickered in her eyes. “For what?”

Jughead plucked the burning cigarette out of her fingers and brought it to his own lips. “Doping”

“I thought they were bros,” she said. He noticed how her eyes dropped down to his lips as he inhaled the nicotine.

“Jason isn’t bro with anyone,” he said flatly, “He’s known to be highly self-serving outside of his twin sister.”

Veronica accepted that explanation and turned her attention back to the board. Her brows were pulled together in one strung-out line as her eyes followed the sequential lines. She got that look whenever she had to think especially hard about something because it didn’t make any sense to her.

“So that’s who Cheryl’s having a love affair with,” she remarked dryly as she bent her knees and lowered herself to the same level as the portrait of Toni Topaz, “I’m almost disappointed in myself for not picking that one up. My gaydar is normally impeccable.”

“Just make sure you don’t tell anyone,” Jughead sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, “That was supposed to be a secret between a couple of friends.”

“And me now,” she added with a supercilious smile, “Do you have some post-it’s lying around?”

He put the cigarette out and reached for the spare notes he kept on top of his father’s chest, “Sure, but why?”

“That bit is wrong,” she declared and pointed at the square cut-out of the Cooper’s family portrait he found on the Register’s website, “She didn’t leave town after Jason disappeared. Alice and Hal shipped her off to the Sisters of Quiet Mercy right before that happened. Nice picture of me, by the way.”

Jughead felt his ears burn. He should have thought about that before he decided to show her the board. He only considered how much he’d grown to trust her in such a short amount of time, this was part of the trust. Admittedly, he felt somewhat better now that he’d shown someone the timeline he’d painstakingly put together. He was less alone than he was before; Jughead never thought he’d come to appreciate sharing this with someone, let alone someone as cunning as Veronica. It was a good sign that she was more impressed than disturbed by the things he’d been doing in his spare time.

“I got it off that profile Kevin did on you for the Blue & Gold,” he cleared his throat awkwardly, “I could take it down if you want.”

“No, it’s fine,” Veronica said negligently as she cleared some space on the small desk next to the foldaway bed and crouched over it as she scratched down some words on the post-it, “I am, after all, now a Riverdale resident. And I think I look pretty in that picture.”

He nodded and tried not to look straight at her as she shot him a cheeky smile. “Anyway…are you sure that Polly was sent away before Jason disappeared? Betty told everyone that Polly missed school for half the week before that because she had a cold, and Archie told me that he saw Polly hanging around the Coopers’ backyard on those days.”

“Betty told me that Polly went away before Jason’s disappearance. Archie said the last he saw of her was right after,” Veronica revealed as she stared at the polaroid of a ten-year old Archie Andrews, “So unless they got seriously bad memories, one of them is lying. Betty went as far as to disclose to me that the straw that broke the camel’s back was her parents finding a collection of prescription pills in Polly’s room.”

That was news to him. He’d always assumed that the Coopers made Polly go away because they didn’t want their eldest daughter near the Blossoms or their son. Though the pills didn’t surprise him, Jason did always have a way of rubbing off on the people around him. Veronica stood on her tip-toe as she tried to tack the post-it onto the top left corner of the board. Jughead chuckled to himself and wrapped an arm around the curve of her waist to stabilise her as he plucked the sticky note from between her fingers and stuck it next to the picture of Polly Cooper from her junior year.

“I would have gotten there eventually,” she insisted haughtily with her chin upturned.

“Yeah?” Jughead challenged, the laughter still lingering at the back of his throat, “With the help of your designer heels maybe.”

Veronica rolled her eyes but there was a gleam of melancholy in them. She curled her arms around his neck and he wondered if she was flirting with him, it was always her winning strategy with the boys. Then she opened her mouth wide and laughed her head off without any more sound than you would make snapping a neck. She ducked her head under his chin and held him close. Her eyelids were half down over the clogged iris of her eyes and she shook with laughter – or distress until her breath stilled.

“Sometimes it feels like you’re the only one I can stand to be with in this rotten town,” Veronica whispered so hushedly into his shirt that he couldn’t be sure she spoke the words in the first place, “No, I don’t think I ever liked being with someone before you. In fact, I can’t even say for certain anymore that I knew who I was before I met you.”

He couldn’t imagine that a day ever went by where Veronica didn’t know exactly who she was. It sounded like a cheap line coming out of her mouth, he believed her anyway. He had to because it had occurred to him once or twice before that something was missing inside him before Veronica got to town. He always thought it would be the novel that would fill that hole. Maybe he was mistaken. Maybe the empty space was hers to do with as she pleased. Maybe.

“Would you have gone through with it?” Jughead asked, his eyes fixed on her lips as he watched her rubbed them together raw, “Would you have kissed Archie if I didn’t stop Cheryl?”

“No,” she replied as if she’d only just come to that conclusion, “I don’t think I would have. For the sake of Betty and for my own sake too…”

Jughead felt the euphoria of cleansing relief wash over him. He’d been trying hard not to think about it; the kiss that never was and if it would have if he didn’t step in. He wondered if he was only delaying the inevitable – if the inevitable was Archie and Veronica. It was always meant to be the girl next door with her boy next door, that was how he justified it, but if they were the honest people they claimed to be they’d accept that destiny had gone off-course ever since Veronica came into the picture. Two was a crowd, three was a party and he didn’t think there was room for him.

“I thought about kissing Archie earlier tonight,” Veronica confessed, her eyes downcast with shame, “It didn’t seem right. In that moment, I wasn’t thinking about Betty. I wasn’t thinking about anything but how it would feel to kiss him, just once. The thought of it,” she looked conflicted over her next words, “It made me feel like I was trying to run towards him so I could run away from something else. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

He wanted to tell her then, while he still had her in his arms, that she was magnificent and brilliant and beautiful. He had all these lovely things he wanted to say but he thought it was beside the point. So he cupped a hand under the exquisite curve of her jaw and made her look at him. She blinked at him like she was trying to adjust to the sight of him. She pursed her lips thoughtfully and he smiled in return.

“Veronica, you’re not expected to be anything other than the person you are,” Jughead told her gently and brushed the calloused pad of his thumb over the faint freckle on her cheek, “You don’t need to run away anymore. I don’t want you going anywhere – not when you can stay right here with me.”

She didn’t say anything but he thought he might have felt her cracked lips brushed against the underside of his jaw. He took that as a promise.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As much as I'm enjoying writing a slow burn relationship, I'm just as anxious as I'm sure some of you are for these two to do something with all this sexual tension already! It's coming really soon, I promise!
> 
> As always thanks for all the comments and kudos you guys leave with every chapter. We've gotten so far in this fic (maybe just over half away if it goes to plan) and the support has really carried me through to this point! So a bunch of thanks and a shit ton of love to all of you x

“So we agree that this stays between the two of us?”

“Just us?”

Jughead nodded. “Only us”

* * *

Veronica woke up with her head pounding in Jughead’s lap. Veronica woke up with her mouth tasting like an ashtray. Veronica woke up with her throat clogged and her chest caving. Veronica woke up wishing she was someone else. Veronica woke up less alone than the night before. Veronica woke up to another day.

Jughead was awake when her heavy eyes fluttered open. His face was hidden behind the brown, crisping pages of ‘ _The Red Harvest_.’ It had one of those retro covers, the kind where a failed art student was hired for cheap to sketch. The man on the cover oddly looked like him. He hadn’t noticed that she’d stirred awake and she allowed herself to indulge in his oblivion as he soothingly ran his fingers through her curls that were crushed between his legs.

“Morning,” she greeted groggily after a few minutes but didn’t bother to sit up.

He pushed the pages together and put the novel aside. His lips curved into a fond smile as he murmured, “There she is.”

There she was. No running. No hiding.

* * *

Jughead dropped her off in front of the Pembrooke late that afternoon. He said ‘goodbye’ and she smiled solemnly but said nothing in return. Farewell was cruel, especially after the day they had together. Jughead had surprised her with his culinary skill and whipped up a breakfast worthy of a Sunday brunch at the Bowery hotel. They ate on the couch, silently passing a bottle of maple syrup back and forth as they watched a double episode of ‘ _The Munsters’_ that he had on tape as a kid. Afterwards, Veronica pestered Jughead just enough to get him to agree to read her a few passages from his novel. It didn’t escape her attention that there was no mention of her in any of the paragraphs he chose to share. Veronica was positive that she made it somewhere on one of those hundreds of pages. She wasn’t the type of girl you leave out of your diary entry, never mind your magnum opus. So she sat leisurely by his feet, sipping a lukewarm cup of hot chocolate with her ankles primly folded underneath her as she listened to stories about the simpler times before Jason Blossom disappeared and she got to town.

There was no mention of the ‘murder board’ for the remainder of their afternoon together but she knew it was on both of their minds. Veronica was feeling somewhat guilty for having misdirected him so she would not incriminate herself. From what she could tell by the abundance of information Jughead had pinned up in FP’s old room, he already knew too much for comfort. Initially, she was excited to see that he had many of the missing pieces that would help her fill in the gaping holes of Jason’s murder. Then it dawned on her that it also meant he was much closer to figuring out that her family was linked to his death. She knew she had to find a way to throw him off their trail before it was too late. So when Veronica spotted an erroneous mistake in his timeline for Hermione’s brief visit earlier this year, she didn’t correct him. It was crucial that Veronica was the first out of the two of them to figure out this murder mystery. She couldn’t risk him discovering her involvement and running to the police for whatever reason. Albeit half the work was already done for her. Jughead had a few things wrong but that was what happened when you didn’t have a direct line the nosiest family in town. Speaking of the Coopers, Veronica knew she couldn’t tell him about her late-night visits to the Register. She did consider it last night – it wouldn’t hurt to have a helping hand in navigating their piss-poor filing system but it would definitely hurt if he was to get suspicious over her motive. In fact, Veronica had a feeling that Jughead was already suspicious. Even she had to admit that there was something peculiar about the new settler caring so much about the town’s private affairs. Veronica realised that she better keep a low-profile if she wanted to keep off his DIY detective board. 

Veronica caught him lingering, watching her through the smudgy side view mirror as she climbed out of the truck and disappeared behind the stone columns of her apartment building. She tried not to miss him once she stepped into the elevator, the doors slid close and she sighed because there was an ache in her chest that told her she already did. Strange as it was, she wished she could go into hiding at the Jones’ trailer indefinitely. Veronica thought it would be hate at first sight with his living situation, yet it was surprisingly the opposite. Jughead’s place was so undeniably _him_ that she couldn’t help but adore every inch of it – from the chipped coffee table to the archaic typewriter that sat atop of it. She could tell by all the little knick-knacks that were lying around that Jughead was the type of boy who liked to sit silently in the corner with a book that had words too complicated for children of his age. Not much had changed; the thought of that old picture of him and his sister mucking around in the park made her lips twitch into a sentimental smile. Even so, Veronica was dying for a warm bath. It felt as if the stink of death, cigarettes, and cheap rum had followed her home.

The elevator ‘ding’ quicker than she expected. Veronica securely tucked the coat under her arm and began to dig through her purse for the key when she realised that this was the wrong stop. She couldn’t help but jump a little at Hermosa’s last-minute entry. Her step-sister’s skeleton-like fingers wrapped themselves around the straight line of the gaudy gold-coated metal before it could fully close on her. Veronica felt as if she was in a slasher flick as the doors automatically retreated and Hermosa slid through them with an ease of a slippery snake.

“Morning,” the woman greeted as she glanced at her from the corner of her slate-grey eyes, “Long night, I see.”

“House party,” Veronica supplied shortly and moved herself into the furthest corner.

That made Hermosa laugh, terse and condescending. “You can stand closer, Veronica. I’m not going to give you a stern talking to for not coming home last night if that’s what you’re scared of.”

“I’m not scared,” she replied truthfully, “But nice to know that you’re not trying to parent. I appreciate you for knowing your place.”

Hermosa nodded. Then threw a compliment her way, “Nice dress”

“Thanks”

“Oh before I forget, I’ve got a postcard here for you,” Hermosa mentioned like the thought just flew into her head like a bird to its cuckoo nest, and unclasped her purse, “Somehow it ended up in my stash of mail.”

 _Somehow_ , Veronica held back a snide scoff.

“I was just going to slide it under your door if I didn’t catch you today but since you’re here,” she sighed theatrically as she pulled a stiff, rectangle card out of her nylon Prada bag and held it out to her, “I may as well give it to you now.”

She appraised the other woman with a sour look and took it with quickness. The postcard was one of those tacky, tourist ones that you get at your local gift shop when you’ve exhausted your options of other but equally tacky souvenirs. The front of it was covered in an unbelievable shade of turquoise that made her seasick. A neon orange writing with a bold white outline was spread across the scenic photograph, it read ‘ _With love…_ ’ The bottom right corner had significantly smaller writing but in the same cartoon-like font. “ _Los Cabos, Mexico,”_ it read. She didn’t know anyone who vacationed in Mexico and she definitely didn’t know anyone who thought she’d appreciate a cheesy postcard. Hermosa’s eyes were drilling little holes into the side of her skull, probably waiting for her to flip it over. God knows why, the nosy bitch probably had a look already. With that in mind, Veronica decided there was no harm in taking a quick peek at the back to see who it was that addressed such an offending greeting card to her.

“Ow!”

Turned out there was harm in it, after all. Veronica had sliced a thin line into her ring finger with the crisp corner of the postcard.

Hermosa hums in twisted delight. “That looks nasty.”

She glared at the dark-haired woman, wincing as she brought her finger to her mouth and tasted the coppery tang of blood on her tongue. She flipped the postcard over and stared at the blank slate. Veronica blinked at the harsh writing under the fluorescent light but the ink didn’t disappear like she thought it would. She wiped a clammy thumb over the words, then again and again and again until some of it smudged onto her skin. The empty space that surrounded the neat, black cursives was so white that it made the words look desolate. **Psycho Killer, Qu'est-ce que c'est?** Veronica felt like all the air had been sucked out of her lung and some unknown force had thrown her into the shiny wall of the elevator, choking her against it. Her ears began to burn and she could hear the gruelling howling of David Byre, the bass thumping aggressively, the echoes of Katy’s teary screams, Nick’s deranged laughter…

She just wanted it to _go away_.

“Do you mind? You’re dripping blood all over my floor.”

Hermosa was staring down in disgust at the droplets of crimson that had stained the polished tiles of her elevator. Veronica had to clasp her wrist with her other hand to stop herself from crumpling the paper up into a jagged little ball.

“That’s a peculiar little message to put on a postcard,” Hermosa remarked curiously as the elevator come to a halt.

“It’s an in-joke between friends,” she lied smoothly and tapped her heel anxiously. The door was sure taking its sweet fucking time.

Eventually, Veronica lost her cool and ended up squeezing her body through the narrow gap when they finally reached her floor. She felt sick and she didn’t think it was wise to throw up in Hermosa’s elevator after having bled all over it already. As Veronica rushed to her door, she heard her step-sister’s mocking laughter spill down the corridor. She probably thought it funny. Veronica might have too if she didn’t understand that this was a thinly-veiled threat. Nick knew exactly where she’d disappeared to, and he wanted her to know that he knew. So what now? Does she skip town and move to an even smaller one? Does she book a flight to a remote international location and get a new identity? Does she run down the street, screaming at the top of her lungs until they commit her to the same ward as Polly Cooper? _What now?_

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Veronica muttered instead of screech and stopped herself from flinging her key across the hall. 

Veronica took a deep breather that little to calm her and tried again to unlock the door. She slowly pushed the key into the miniature hole and drove her shoulder into the wood panel until it pried open and she landed in her apartment with a heavy ‘thud.’ All her belongings fell to the floor in a wave of noisy clatters but she didn’t care as she forged ahead to the kitchen sink. She fumbled around the wall for the, her nails scraping against the eggshell wallpaper as she clawed at the button. The garbage disposal growled angrily at her when Veronica fed it the postcard. She watched in temporary relief as the swivelling metal ground the damn thing into minuscule pieces and flushed down the drain. It was as if she never cut herself with its corner or saw the exaggerated curves of Nick St. Clair’s ballpoint pens. Veronica studied the circular opening like it had a life of its own, almost expecting for the paper to be spat back out at her. When nothing followed but the sound of daunting silence, Veronica grabbed the lip of the sink and pulled herself up, pausing for the head rush to hit her. She staggered, her heel caught in the gap between the floorboards which made her kick them off altogether as she stumbled onto her hands and knees, and knocked her bag over. Her phone spilled out amongst the other four tubes of lipstick, two glosses, some bobby pins, and an emergency sewing kit. She snatched it off the pile of her things and speedily typed in her passcode. It was a mistake to not have checked her phone since she left Cheryl’s disastrous get together, Veronica realised as she swiped away a flood of text messages and missed calls from Archie, Betty, and Kevin. She toggled through her contact list until she found ‘ _Katy Kat’_ with a kitten emoji next to it.

It only occurred to Veronica once she was staring back at a blinking cursor that she had no idea what it was that she should say to Katy. Her eyes fell on the ‘subject’ line and she felt her fingers skimmed across the letters on its own accord. Before she knew it, she had written ‘ **TALKING HEADS’** in all caps like it was supposed to covey everything she wanted to say ( _“I’m sorry for leaving,” “I’m sorry for not saying goodbye,” “I’m sorry about everything that Nick did to you,” “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you,” “I’m sorry that this makes me a shit fucking friend_.”) She tapped on the blank space and typed, in all caps: “ ** _HE KNOWS WHERE I AM.”_**

Veronica never hit send.

* * *

School was gruesome.

Veronica was avoiding Betty which also meant avoiding Kevin. Archie was unavoidable for they both shared the same second period. She uttered a breezy ‘hello’ to convey that there was no bad blood between them. Fortunately for her, Archie was a good sport about it and did the same. They sat together that class and pretended they weren’t dared to lock lips in front of his soulmate. Cheryl was running a smear campaign on what she had coined the “most boring love triangle to ever exist” because apparently, Veronica was supposed to make-out with Archie and not flee the scene with his former best friend. Jughead didn’t get off scot-free either. Josie mentioned during their walk to physics that the Bulldogs were giving him a tough time for attempting to blackmail Cheryl into submission. Veronica thought about confronting the bombshell over it. After all, they had an understanding and Jughead was out of bounds. Then she remembered they witnessed her mother execute cold-blooded murder and was decidedly less enthusiastic about the idea. She knew Jughead was good at pretending that bad things didn’t happen to him - she’d seen the way he’d hold Cheryl’s steely stare and revealed nothing about the vile creatures he knew her parents to be. It was as if he could blink away what he knew of Jason and his father, and what they were both capable of doing to one another. Veronica wasn’t confident that she could do that, not so soon after anyway. She swore she she could still hear the sound of bone cracking and blood splattering whenever she turned a corner. It wasn’t until lunch break that each of them got some perspective on how bad the damage was.

“V…can we talk?”

At the first ring of the bell, Veronica had duct down the hall in the same manner as Lindsay Lohan did when she tried to flee her DUI in ’07. Yet leave it to the golden girl, Betty Cooper to catch up to her anyway. She flexed her fingers around her empty plastic tray and placed a rigid smile on her face before spinning around. Archie was standing by Betty’s side, his hand hovering the small of her back. Of course, he was. It’s not like either of them were ever any good at fighting their own battles.

“Hey, guys!” Veronica greeted in a chipper voice that was so unlike her.

“Look, Ronnie, I completely understand if you’re feeling awkward about everything. Things got kinda out of control the other night and I think we should – “

“Sorry, I’m late. Burble wanted to talk to me about pushing a few things around on my time table,” Jughead waltzed into the conversation like he couldn’t see the duo standing right before them.

Betty’s green orbs bulged out of their sockets in extreme irritation. “Um…hello to you too?”

“Betts, it’s fine. Seriously,” Archie told her gently and glanced at Jughead with a touch of shame, “It’s probably better that he’s here to hear what I have to say anyway.”

“Ok, then can we make this quick? I missed breakfast this morning so I’m in a hurry to get some food in me,” Jughead said dismissively and picked up a tray.

Betty glared at him but he didn’t seem to care as he skimmed today’s lunch menu with more interest than he was willing to give the discussion at hand.

“Jughead, can’t you see that we’re trying to have an important conversation with you and Veronica?”

“Were you?” Jughead snarked absently, “I hadn’t noticed that. Thanks for bringing that to my attention, Betts.”

“Why do you have to make everything difficult?! You know I hate being called Betts! Don’t you think I know that you only do it to get a rise out of me?! I’m not an idiot, Jughead,” The blonde clamoured shrilly, her eyes alight with manic, “I’m so sick of you acting like nothing we do or say ever matters to you.”

“Because it doesn’t, Betty,” he spat ferociously, “It stopped mattering to me the moment my dad got arrested and both of you pretended like I never existed.”

The canteen had gone quiet, the other students had forgotten about their meal and were looking over at them with scandalized glee. The four of them had unwittingly put on a show for the whole school. Archie’s eyes darted around nervously as he cleared his throat. He looked impossibly mournful.

“I just wanted to apologize to you, Veronica. I shouldn’t have tried to make a pass at you earlier that night at Cheryl’s. Betty and I,” he said with a note of hesitance and nudged the blonde with his elbow. Betty pulled at the hem of her cropped jumper that Veronica had picked out for her during their last shopping trip self-consciously, then nodded at him as if she was giving him permission to continue, “We want to say thank you to Jughead for standing up to Cheryl.”

Jughead’s head whipped around at the mention of his name. He stared at the pair of them blankly but didn’t interrupt.

“If you haven’t interfered, I think I would have taken advantage of the dare and went ahead and kissed Ronnie,” Archie spoke slowly, having felt the need to expand upon his show of gratitude.

Veronica saw the raven-haired boy’s jaw twitched. _Of course, you would have_ , she could almost hear the sarky tone of his unspoken words.

“So Ronnie, I would understand if you need some time away from me,” the red-head turned to look at her meaningfully, a sad smile playing on his lips, “And Jughead…well, I owe you one, man.”

She accepted the apology in a silent nod and returned his smile. Jughead, on the other hand, gave no allusion of amity. Archie owed him plenty more than one, even Veronica knew that.

“Alright,” Jughead said after a tension-filled pause that made Betty nibble nervously on her pastel nails, “What about Betty? Did you apologize to her too? Or did she make you give us this self-reflective speech so you wouldn’t look like an asshole?”

Archie’s warm brown eyes hardened. His hands clenched into two iron fists by his side as he shook his head, “She didn’t make me. And yes, I have apologized to her in private. Although, I feel like that’s none of your business.”

“It wasn’t my business to stop that stupid kiss either, but you’re pretty glad I made it my business, aren’t you?” Jughead bit back.

Betty pulled her glossy lips under her teeth and kept her gaze glued to the floor. Archie said nothing, which was the biggest giveaway. He wasn’t sorry but he wasn’t glad, not for the reasons he claimed anyway. He was glad that he didn’t have to put Betty through any more pain. He was sorry that they would have kissed under those heartbreaking circumstances. Archie wasn’t apologetic at all, he was just a greedy boy who wanted to have his cake and eat it too. Jughead knew that, he must have always known that this was who Archie was underneath the sharp angelic lines of his face.

“Betty,” Veronica sighed, “I wouldn’t have kissed Archie. I wouldn’t have done that to you. You believe me, right?”

The blonde shot her a watery smile. Veronica could tell by the way her eyelashes were sticking together that she’d been crying earlier. “I know, V. I believe you.”

“I swear I would have told you right away Archie and I had a moment but you weren’t exactly in the friendliest mood that night.”

Betty nodded empathetically. “I understand. I think it was better that I got to hear it from Archie first.”

“Ok, good…I think we’ll be fine then,” she said, the crushing weight of guilt lifting off her chest, “That goes the same for you too, Archie, but I think I’ll be keeping my distance until the rumour mill slows down. I’m sure something else scandalous will happen within the next few days and people will forget all about it. I wouldn’t worry about it too much,” she carelessly dropped the red plastic tray down on the counter, having lost her appetite after all the talking they’ve been doing. Veronica shot Jughead a faint but encouraging smile as she brushed a hand against his shoulder blade, “I can’t force you to work things out with Archie or Betty but I really do think you three need to talk. You can’t keep going like this, Jug.”

Veronica slipped out the door before any of them could ask her to stay. That was one triangle she didn’t belong in. 

* * *

Veronica turned the radio up because who was going to stop her anyway? She hummed along to an old jazz song she couldn’t name. All she knew was that she was homesick and the tune was something her abuela used to put on while she fussed around in the kitchen. She stretched her feet out until her toes could touch the cushiony interior of her car door.

She restrained a yawn as she pushed her cat-eye sunglasses down the bridge of her nose and put the book down on her lap. Jughead spotted her across the school parking lot and walked over to her, both hands shoved deep into the pockets of his trusty leather jacket. A gust of wind swept by, making some of his dark curls flopped over his forehead in an adorable way. He did a little salute gesture, which sparked something inside her. She had endeared to him, Veronica realised but it didn’t really surprise her as it should.

Jughead rested his backside up against the side of the automobile and immediately lit a cigarette. He glanced over his shoulders, his baby blue eyes narrowing at the worn-out cover as he murmured, “I didn’t take you for a Proust fan.”

“I heard that’s what Jane Birkin does whenever she feels like she’s lost her way. I thought I’d give it a go.”

He scoffed and leapt over the door and into the car. He grabbed both her bare ankles before she could pull away and propped them onto his lap. She wiggled her toes against the starchy material of his jeans and tried not to giggle when he slightly jumped at the contact.

“That sounds like something French people say for the sake of being pretentious,” Jughead said wryly, “And let’s face it, Veronica, you’re too high maintenance to take advice from a sixties flower child.”

“Yeah…I don’t see myself hanging by the campfire at Woodstock either,” she admitted, “How did it go with Betty and Archie? If it went at all.”

“It went,” he nodded, “I think Arch and I will be okay. We’ve made amends. It will just take some time getting used to being around each other again,” he blew out a perfect ring of smoke, “I still think his apology to you was bullshit. He would have gladly taken advantage of that opening that Cheryl gave him and kissed you if I didn’t say anything – Betty or no Betty.”

Veronica cringed at the mental image. The thought used to entice her, now it seemed all kinds of _wrong_ – like ‘kissing a cardboard cut-out of an embarrassing celebrity crush’ kind of wrong.

“Don’t remind me. I can’t believe we almost kissed,” she let out an exasperated sigh and pulled the shades off her face, “Can you imagine Archie and I, dating? That would be disastrous!”

“You’re kidding, right? The two of you together would have been the teen dream – basically the most picturesque thing to happen since Jason and Polly,” he laughed a bitter one, “I can’t even blame the whole year level for giving me a hard time for interrupting the “magical” moment. They probably feel like I've robbed them of a new shining romance to aspire to."

“I mean,” Veronica licked her lips and inspected her nail bed like she’d never seen them before, “The popular girl leaving the party with the school’s loner instead of the quarterback would probably count as the teen dream in the eighties. At least, it would be if we were in love anyway.”

“Yeah,” he smiled at her, it was discreet and forlorn, “It would.”

She felt sad all of a sudden, she couldn’t put her finger on why though.

“Hey,” Jughead changed the subject as swiftly as they have stumbled onto it, “Why are you hanging out in your car instead of sixth period?”

“Oh sorry, I didn’t know you worked for the school administration now,” she teased, “And why aren’t _you_?

“If you must know, it’s my free period,” he retorted and rolled his eyes, “This isn’t an attempt to get you to class, Veronica.”

Veronica flashed him a shrewd smile and squinted at the afternoon sun that was beaming behind his head, said, “I wasn’t in the mood to be around people or for math equations.”

“Fair enough. I get that.”

Jughead stretched an arm over the back of the leather seat, his fingers skidding over the nape of her neck to the mellow beat of a Frank Sinatra song. She leaned into his touch and allowed for the gentle saxophone to consume the serene silence that hung between them. Veronica only started to notice that he playing with a loose tendril when he actually accidentally pulled too hard as he twirled her inky hair around his index finger.

“You and Betty good?” She didn’t really want to ask but she somehow felt obligated to.

Archie and Jughead was one thing. Betty and Jughead – well, she didn’t even think either of them was aware that there was something there; just simmering under the surface and waiting to burn the whole house down. The blonde never wanted to talk about Jughead. In fact, Veronica sensed that if Betty could pretend that they were never friends at all, she would. As far as she could tell, he liked to do the same. Between Jughead’s profound disdain that came and went like the tides, and Betty’s silent disapproval that she masked with a nurturing smile, it wasn’t something you could resolve with words. Not when they never had to wield words to hurt one another.

“I don’t think we were ever good,” he replied obscurely and shrugged.

Veronica tilted her head as she levelled with him. “I don’t know how much I believe that.”

“Growing up it always felt like it was Betty and Archie. There was never any room for me in that friendship. I could be sitting right next to them and it would still be just the two of them, and I was just a ghost. Betty…” Jughead hesitated and cast his clouded gaze over the deserted parking lot, “She always looked at me like I was a charity case; someone she could fix. Like if she tried enough – cared enough – then there was a chance that she could stop me from going down the wrong path she thought I was destined for.”

She straightened and felt her big toe graze against his inner thigh. “Jug…”

“It’s not Betty’s fault and knowing her, she didn’t mean to make me feel the way she did,” Jughead dismissed before Veronica could point fingers, “I guess I never realised until we all stopped being friends that I have always been alone.”

“Not anymore,” Veronica corrected him with unshakable faith, “You have me now. You don’t have to be alone ever again if you don’t want to.”

He peered at her steadily but she could tell it was paining him to do so. “What happens when you leave?”

She hadn’t thought about that; there hadn’t been any space for it. Funny how she spent weeks dreaming of the day when she could finally return to the safety of New York, New York, and Fifth avenue. Funny how leaving was the goal but now it was a farewell she didn’t think she could accept.

“What happens when y _ou_ do?” Veronica countered because there was nothing else to do but deflect for the moment.

He scoffed and snicked some of the excess ash from his Marlboro. “You don’t actually believe I’ll get to leave this shit hole, do you?”

“Why not?” she asked, “I always imagined you outside of Riverdale.”

“Oh ok. What’s next? I’ll be going to college as well?”

Veronica knocked Proust onto the floor with her knees but she didn’t care as she reached for him. She clawed at the space between them until her fingers were wounded around his neck, her nails digging into the thick curls and bunching them up in her hands. He winced but said nothing of it and allowed her to yank him closer.

“Forsythe Pendleton Jones, the third,” she announced loftily and heard him mutter _‘here we go’_ under his breath. He must have found her bossiness humorous because he started to laugh until it caught at the back of his throat when she tugged with a little too much force and ended up falling into his lap. Veronica felt her skirt rise over the lace of her nylon stockings but she ignored her immodesty as she tried to balance her weight on her knees. Her calves pressed firmly onto the outer thighs in a weak attempt to keep still but as she was about to tip over, his hand shot out and splayed under her ribcage with an anchored hold. She gazed down at him when he gazed up at her. His eyes were cloudy, but Veronica thinks she could see through the murkiness of the indigo haze. She thought sadly that she wasn’t prepared to see such a thing, so instead, she grasped his face and brushed her thumb over the slope of his cheekbone. She felt her heart hammer painfully against her chest as she told him, “We’re going make it out of this crazy town, you hear me? You don’t belong here and neither do I.”

_No, you belong wherever I want you to. And I want you with me._

Veronica saw his Adam’s apple bobbed and felt a girlish giggle rising from her chest. Jughead’s eyes darkened at that noise and she barely felt his thumb push against the curve of her spine before she collapsed even further into him, her core brushing up against the edge of his hip. The tip of her nose grazed the curve of his chin when she tried to catch a glimpse of his face. She felt him flinch at the fleeting contact like it had stung him to feel her all over him. It wasn’t so funny anymore and judging by the fraught way he was peering down at her, he knew it too. Jughead carefully pushed her off, making her flop onto the passenger seat in a gentle landing. _What the hell was that?_ Veronica thought as she looked away and tried to smooth down her tousled hair.

They both waited for the moment to pass and for the stillness to sweep the tension under the rug. She didn’t trust herself to be the first to speak.

“Want to get out of here and go back to mine? We can watch more of ‘ _The Munsters._ ’” Jughead suggested after a while, his voice sounded stuffy.

“I’ve got cheer practice after school.”

He gave her a knowing look.

She sighed and put up a half-hearted fight. “The pep rally is next Friday, Jug. Cheryl’s going to kill me if she’s not already planning on it.”

Jughead doubled down on the look. It made her groan and surrender; it was _that_ easy with him.

“Ok fine, but can we get drunk while we’re at it?”

He put a hand out for the car key and said with radiating warmth in his voice, “Anything you want, princess.”

* * *

Veronica had been expecting it, she just didn’t expect it to be so soon.

She paced back and forth in her bedroom and tried not to look over at the flimsy piece of paper she’d forsaken on her dresser. Someone had slid it under her door while she was doing her usual shift at Pop’s that evening. When she got into her apartment, her lacquered Mahnolos were still slick with rainwater and seeping into the envelope as it stuck onto the bottom of her right heel. She would have never noticed it, except for when she did when she thought to dry them off with a towel. She secretly wished she had left her shoes to ruin. Veronica’s had just about enough of unanticipated mail. She scowled at the unfortunate timing and snatched up the paper to torture herself some more.

**“ _11 pm. Under the tree where you first found me_.”**

_Sick, diabolical, twisted piece of shit._ Veronica was seriously considering putting out a hit on whoever the motherfucker was if she ever found out their identity. She tossed it onto her bed and threw the duvet over the letter like the excessive thread count could somehow swallow it up.

This truly was a week from hell. First, the postcard from Nick. Then the high school drama. But this really takes the cake. Veronica buried her face that was still damp with rain in her hands and let out an unrestrained grunt. She could hear her phone ringing from the living room, again – for the sixth time in the last hour, and left it out there to die. Her mother had been calling her nonstop for the last two days but she didn’t think she could stomach _the talk_ when the world was crumbling all around her. She’d seen it all over Twitter; it was official, Hiram Lodge was found by the court to be guilty of one count of tax evasion and four counts of failure to file a tax return. They were going to appeal the verdict, post-bail was set at two million. Daddy would pay it, she knew he would. Prison wasn’t a viable option for a man of his stature. Veronica muted notifications on all her socials after that. She didn’t need the online threats on top of the ones she was getting in real life.

Funny how when you put a series of miniature catastrophes together, you get one giant mess.

In her weakest moment, Veronica considered coming clean to Jughead. She had fantasies about telling him that she was sent to Riverdale by her parents to absolve themselves of their crime. She dreamt that he’d be kind and understanding and forgiving. They were all impossible inventions that she made up in her head. Still, there was a part of her that was sure that he wouldn’t despise her for it – not permanently anyway. He wasn’t capable of such hateful emotions when it came to her; that wasn’t what she was afraid of. She was scared of betrayal, everyone was capable of that, and in the events that he did – well, her parents would make sure he pays the price for her mistake.

And because she was morbid, Veronica weighted the Nick predicament against the current homicidal blackmail she was facing. They were both decidedly bad and they were both likely end in another death. The only positive which was also somewhat of a negative was the fact that she had no idea if or when Nick was coming for her. He could very well be trying to spook her for a laugh. He did always have a sick sense of humour and may have found it funny to make her squirm. Was it so out of the question that he didn’t care for revenge after what she put him through? Veronica wasted her time pondering that conundrum despite already knowing the answer; he was nowhere near over it. Nick always had a vengeful streak, even when they were kids. She remembered when the Vanderbilt boy kicked down his sandcastle one summer in the Hamptons. Nick got even by almost drowning him in the pool at the next play date. Forgiving a childhood friend for trying to kill you in your own garage wasn’t so easy to do, and Nick was far from the forgiving type. At least with Nick, she could pretend it wasn’t there. Or make believe that things weren’t as bad as they were. It was a Lodge trait to push things away until they fade into obscurity but she knew that like her father, she wouldn’t be so lucky this time. She would have to suck it up and deal with it. _Tonight._

So at ten to eleven when the smell of night air cold and the sour evening rain had swept over the town, Veronica instructed Smithers to park two blocks away from Sweetwater River. She highly doubted that the assailant was stupid enough to come themselves but she didn’t want to risk them spotting her ride and tailing them. She might as well shoot herself with the pistol she found behind an abstract painting in Hermosa’s office if she allowed that to happen. Veronica was so skittish about the meeting that she triple-checked that the chamber was loaded before she bid Smithers goodbye and got out of the Lincoln. She pulled her plaid scarf over her nose and walked the distance. She managed to keep a steady, brisk pace until she saw the slow-moving line of the water as it chastely kissed the shoreline. 

Veronica fingered the pistol in her coat’s pocket as she took an icicle breath and trudged down to the old Maplewood tree where it all began. She gripped the metal even tighter as she came up close to her destination and her steps became timid. In the dark, all she could see was the sporadic dirt that littered the dying grass underneath her feet. She looked ahead into the emptiness of the night and saw nothing, even so, she couldn’t shake the vision of Jughead, sitting there on a boulder with his raven hair blowing in the cold wind. _What would he do if he was here instead of her?_ Veronica wondered. Would he even come in the first place? He was often so paranoid that he would probably liken this expedition to walking into a trap. Was she? Was she going to die tonight, at the place where they first met? That would make for a good ending to his novel, he’d probably come to appreciate the justice of her destruction. 

She gasped quietly as she heard a small but crunching sound. It was coming from behind the tree trunk. She dug the sole of her shoe into the mud so she could inch over without taking her foot off the ground. She could see the firm, stoic line of a lean body. It was a man, he was of a taller height and he had his back turned to her. She almost made herself burst into a nervy laughing fit as she imagined herself uttering a dubious ‘hello?’ into the void. She immediately lost track of her thought as she heard the abrupt rustling of his steps. The man unhurriedly swivelled around and that made her clutch the gun so close to her side that the butt off it jabbed into her unexpectedly. _I might have to take a life tonight. I might have to take a life tonight. I might have to take someone's life…_

“Reggie?!”

“Veronica?!”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is LONG. It's the longest chapter I've put out so far. I originally wanted to split this into two but I feel like it reads better as a whole. There's a lot going on here so if you're a lil lost, don't worry because all your questions will be answered within the next few chapters. 
> 
> As always, THANK YOU SO MUCH for all the love and support. All the comments and kudos you have left have really motivated me to finish this off. I was hard to write this at times and all your lovely words of support have gotten me here with this fic x

Reggie Mantle, was someone Veronica would call, a lovable dickhead. He had a tough guy layer but he was all the wimpy, sweetness of a new-born puppy on the inside. Mantle could probably swing a bat hard enough to crack her head open but he’d rather use his strength to hit a baseball so a dog could go fetch. In other words, Reggie Mantle wasn’t the person she was looking for.

Veronica didn’t completely let go of the gun but she wasn’t counting on using it either.

“Oh shit,” he cussed with a casualness of someone saying ‘good evening’ and plodded away from the shadowy overcast of the tree, “You did not strike me someone who would want a toolbox. No offence, Ronnie, but do you even know how to use pliers?”

Veronica screwed up her face; a trigger reaction she knew he couldn’t see in the dark. She couldn’t see anyone else hanging around the area but him, _really?_ Mantle of all people? He was as scary as a Labrador and probably got the same brain capacity.

“What in the god’s name are you talking about?”

“Uh…did you not order one?” Reggie asked apprehensively.

“No,” she shook her head adamantly, “No, I most definitely did not.

“So you’re just hanging out by Sweetwater river because…?” he trailed off as he started to feel around his back pocket before pulling out his iPhone, “I’m so fucking confused. Did you or did you not put in an order for this delivery?”

He held the screen up to her face. The harsh light made her scowl as her vision took a second to adjust to the few lines of writing. Veronica skimmed through the first couple of sentences and understood it to be an incredibly concise instruction to a delivery. Apparently, Reggie was responsible for locating a “ _600mm x 200mm x 420mm Stanley toolbox that would be placed on top of the middle gas pump at the G’Dale’s gas station_ ” and ensuring that it arrived safely at “ _39°24'12.4"N 2°10'27.5"E,”_ which Veronica assumed was the exact coordinate of where they were both standing.

“Frankly, I’m just impressed that you even know how latitude and longitude work.”

Veronica couldn’t be sure but she thought Reggie might be glaring at her for that dig at his intelligence. “Just to confirm, you’re sure that this order isn’t for you?”

“For the hundredth time, Reggie, no,” she sounded it out to him as clearly as she possibly could and swiped the phone out of his hand, “Is this like Uber or something?”

Reggie snatched it back before she could scroll to the bottom of the page. As far as she could tell, the service didn’t require the disclosure of the sender’s personal details and since the box was picked up at a half-way point, there was no real way of gauging where the delivery came from.

“Kinda,” Reggie murmured, itching the back of his neck self-consciously, “I’d say it’s closer to Craigslist but for small towns.”

“So what now? You’re a glorified UPS guy who operates from the shadows of the night?” she asked with an imperious arch of her brow, her eyes flickering to the toolbox he was cradling in his arm.

He hung his head, a gel-slicked coiffed fell over his eye. “You’re making me sound like a shitty Batman.”

Veronica shrugged superciliously and flipped her hair over her shoulder. 

“Damn it, I must have gotten my dropped-off’s mixed up,” Reggie swiped a hand over his face, pulling down on the tanned flesh of his chiselled cheekbones, “You ordered the weed, didn’t you?”

“Um…yes,” Veronica hid her lie behind an affirmative nod, “It’s been a rough week. I needed something to take the edge off.”

“Fucking oath,” Reggie grunted in annoyance as he kicked a stray pebble into the trunk of the Maplewood tree. It rebounded off and landed in the freezing water with a wet ‘plop’, “I knew it was weird when the last guy came out of his house and asked me to leave that bag of grass under his dog’s house.”

“That’s the thing you find weird? Not this,” she retorted and motioned at the chilly, isolated space that surrounded them, “Not hanging around Sweetwater river in the dead of the night, waiting to hand over a toolbox, of all things, to a complete stranger?”

“Not really. It’s a pretty popular spot for a date night,” the dark-haired jock reasoned, “Who am I to judge if a dude wants to pick up his tools before getting his other tool sucked off?”

Veronica clenched her eyes shut in disgust. “Gross, Reggie.”

“Sorry,” he muttered under his breath and hunched his shoulders, the faux leather stretched over them as he glanced around nervously, “So what do we do now? I can’t just take this back to Greendale. They already Venmo’d me the money and not to be a cheapskate, but I don’t really feel like giving back the two-fifty.”

“Two fifty?!” Veronica half-shouted, half-hissed in disbelief, “They paid you two hundred and fifty dollars to do this?”

“Yeah,” he affirmed like that was a normal rate, “Also, a one-star review is bad for business. So what are we doing here?”

“Um…” Veronica was flustered, she knew she was doing a terrible job at hiding how overwhelmed she was by all the outrageous information he was filling her in on, “Ok,” she felt her chest expanded pleasantly as she breathed in the cool, damp air, “How about you send me a screenshot of that page – the instruction, or whatever it is, and I’ll – uh – “ she was seriously floundering here, “I’ll just do a trade-off in my own time – tomorrow night or something.”

Reggie regarded her narrowly from the corner of his eyes. “Do you think that would work? The guy might want to keep the weed. It’s some good fucking weed, Ronnie.”

She threw her hands up at how increasingly ludicrous this situation was shaping up to be. “Do you really think there are actual tools in there? If that was the case, why wouldn’t you just get it delivered to your house between the regular nine to five like a normal person?”

“I – I don’t know,” he stuttered, awkwardly balancing his weight on one leg, “Maybe it’s for an emergency or something.”

Veronica gave him a look that told him to ‘get real.’ “I’ll take care of it. Just text me the screenshot, alright?”

“I’m trusting you on this, V. I tell you now, I’m not going to be happy if I wake up to a bad review tomorrow,” he agreed, even if he wasn’t too pleased about it and texted her the picture.

She fished her phone out of her coat’s pocket and clicked into the most recent notification – a Facebook notification. She stared up from her dimmed screen and glared at the meathead in front of her, “Messenger, seriously? The cops can track our socials, you know that right?”

“Why would the cops be interested in tracking our activities on Facebook?” Reggie asked, unintentionally obtuse.

“You know what,” Veronica groaned, “Forget it. Just give me the toolbox.”

She stuck her hand out and motioned for him to hand the rusty piece of junk over. The dark-haired boy stared down at her twitching fingers, his pale lips folding under his canine teeth as his dark eyes flitted over her deepening frown and said, “You want to go smoke some pot?”

Veronica dropped her arm and stared back at him blankly. She wasn’t sure if the appropriate response was to pummel him or break into a laughing fit.

She couldn’t believe she was saying this, but “I guess so.”

And that was how Veronica ended up hiking half a mile so she could sit in Reggie Mantle’s shiny, black Mustang for a smoke sesh. She thought she travelled to Sweetwater river to get shot in the head or at least, maimed but instead, she was about to get high as a kite with the school’s bully. The way she saw it, the night had worked out in the best possible way.

“I feel you on that one,” Reggie said as he watched her expression transform from blasé to flummoxed after the first puff, “You can always trust my guy to have some dank ass weed.”

She tried not to cough it back out. “Who’s your “guy?”

“Some dude from Greendale,” he supplied vaguely but she supposed the details were irrelevant, “The stuff from Riverdale has been falling flat ever since they put Jones’ dad away. I don’t know,” he shrugged lazily, “The stuff’s been hitting different. Probably a bad batch or something. I hope they fix that shit soon, I’m sick of having to drive to the next town over just so I can get a good high.”

“That’s quite the dedication to drive all the way to Greendale to pick up that thing,” she pointed down at the toolbox that was sitting in between them, “And all the way back to Riverdale after.”

“Nah, nah,” Reggie plucked the spliff from between her fingers and put it up to his lips. He inhaled deeply, then finished what he was saying, “I usually do all my deliveries in Greendale. I made an exception for this one job ‘cause I thought it was an easy cash grab. I usually have to pass Sweetwater river to get home anyway, it made sense to stop.”

He passed the joint back to her and she gladly accepted. “It’s a pretty shady gig. How do you know you’re not picking up and dropping off something that’s going to get you in trouble?”

 _Like a murder weapon_ , Veronica thought grimly as she tried to give in to the fuzzy cloud that was making her worries disappear. He slid all the way down in the driver seat, his eyes bloodshot and his nose tinged red.

Reggie let out a dopey chuckle. “It’s Riverdale, Ronnie. How much trouble could it be?”

 _A lot_ , she grimaced. He could do with a reminder that there was a murderer amongst them.

“Except for what happened to Jay, I guess,” he added belatedly, “But he was always going to die young anyway. He didn’t give a fuck about growing old and bumming around on the front porch while his grandchildren muck around in the backyard and all that normal people bullshit.”

Sometimes Veronica forgets that the two of them were supposed to be best friends. Reggie was usually all roughneck and strongarmed but she saw the way he looked that morning at townhall, sandwiched between his stern-faced parents – it was a splintered look like someone had cut him open and left him unstitched at the seams. She often imagined that Reggie cried himself to sleep later that night. His bones probably aching with repressed sadness, his body shaking from the gallon of tears that he hid underneath all that muscle and schoolboy callousness. She always suspected that Jason was the only true friend Reggie ever had. The rest of the football posse tolerated him but there was no real kinship there. He was the big dog in a small kennel and high school was all about following the leader.

“Weren’t he and Polly a couple of soulmates that was destined for greatness?”

“Fuck Polly,” Reggie spat but it sounded hollow.

A wince marred Veronica’s brow.

There was real spite in his onyx eyes as he stared into the night. “What a fucking fake. She never cared about Jay, she only gave a fuck about being the perfect couple. It was always about the photo-ops with her. God fucking forbid, Jay, showed up to an event without a tie.”

Veronica could see that about Polly, with her shiny hair, tea dresses, and a thousand-watt smile. She didn’t think she’d ever seen a picture of Polly where the word ‘pristine’ didn’t come to mind. The girl was a Cooper after all and she’d seen first-hand how well the women in that house did with imperfections. 

“Let’s stop talking about that bitch. It’s killing my buzz,” Reggie said and licked his gum, it made him look sour. His eyes flickered down to the toolbox and he swatted at it like it was a nuisance, “What do you think is in here?”

“I’m taking it that you didn’t have a look inside before you decided to drive it over?”

“Shit no,” he declared, all wide-eye as he took another drag, “That would be like if the postman read all our mails or something.”

“Why do you need the extra money anyway?” Veronica asked flippantly and tightened the collar of her coat around her neck as she took another breather, “I thought the family business was raking it in. Practically everyone’s sixteenth birthday is a car from your dad’s dealership.”

He shot her a conspicuous look and pointed to the faint blotch of bruised violet that rimmed his right eye. “Look at my fucking face, Ronnie.”

That was probably the only quality she respected in Reggie – brazen honesty. Most people would lie and chalk it up to a sports injury or a nasty fall, but not him. He always told whoever dared to ask the truth; Marty Mantle had a temper on it and he exercised it the way he saw fit, on his only son.

“I’m trying to get enough cash together so I can leave town next year, in case, you know, my football scholarship falls through. I’m not banking on getting into college with my SATS score. I know I’m no Brainiac or anything like that,” Reggie mumbled that last sentence sheepishly and shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his long legs were crammed together at the bottom of the car floor like a broken action figure, “I can’t take another year of this shit. I swear any day now he’ll take it too far and I’ll end up in whatever ditch Jay’s probably laying in right now."

He sniffed and rolled down the window half-way, skimming off the excess ash against the tinted glass. Thank God, she was starting to sweat under the thick layer of smoke that loomed over them like a trippy dark cloud.

“Heard about your dad by the way,” he said suddenly, his head lolling to her side, “That shit must be rough to deal with. I don’t blame you for wanting to get fucked up over it.”

“Well, that and being this week’s hot topic at school hasn’t exactly helped.”

“Oh yeah, that’s gotta suck,” he sucked a sharp intake of breath through his teeth, “It’s pretty fucked up if you think about it. Cooper’s obsessed with Andrews, Andrews’ whipped for you but you have a freakish, co-dependent thing going on with that weirdo Jones who used to be inseparable with those two.”

Veronica furrowed her brows and asked brusquely, “What are you talking about?” What co-dependent thing with Jones?"

“Oh come on,” Reggie grinned at her deviously, “You know what I’m talking about.”

“No, I don’t actually."

“Boys and girls can’t be friends,” he stated like he read it somewhere in a textbook, “Not if the girl is above a seven in the looks department anyway. Just quietly, from a ten to another ten, you’re too bangable to just be friends with.”

Veronica bristled. “How anachronistic and misogynistic of you, Reginald.”

Reggie blinked at her stupidly. “I’m gonna be honest with you, Ronnie, I don’t know what either of those words means. All I’m saying is that the only way a dude can be friends with a girl is if she looks like Ethel or something.”

“It means you’re being a sexist pig,” she retorted blandly before taking a delayed drag of the joint, “Ethel’s got the personality of a crafty Smurf. It’s not her looks that are inspiring – well, uninspiring – affections in the male kind.”

“There it is!” Reggie rejoiced, his eyes lighting up like the traffic lights that were flickering at the end of the street, “It bothers you that she’s crushing on Jones. It shouldn’t but it does ‘cause you like him.”

“Not true,” Veronica denied and shot down his theory with a dirty look, “I don’t like getting interrupted every time I open my mouth, which Ethel seems to love doing. No one does. it’s perfectly normal.”

He heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Whatever, you’re jealous and you don’t want to admit it.”

“Am not”

“Are too!” Reggie countered boisterously and straightened, angling his body towards her as he kicked up a big fuss, “If there’s nothing there, why the fuck are you two always attached by the hips? I’ve never seen you without Jones and when you are, it’s either with golden girl or Andrews. It makes it difficult for the rest of us to shoot our shot, just sayin’.”

“You’re oddly observant, you know that?” Veronica told him, unsure if that was a compliment or not. Either way, it was sure to be a smooth transition into a less personal topic.

“And you’re kinda a badass for someone so tiny. Do _you_ know that?”

“I do,” her lips curled into a condescending smirk as she patted him on the head. “But don’t worry, Mantle. I’ll take it easy on you.”

“Yay me,” he murmured sarcastically and carelessly tossed the burnt-out joint onto the footpath, “But seriously, we good about tonight? You’re not going to rat on me to whoever it is you end up returning that scrap of metal to?”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Veronica vowed but then she remembered that she was never one to drive an easy bargain, “But if you want to be really sure, you could always do me a teeny tiny favour?”

“What?”

“Do you happen to know the way to Whyte Wyrm?”

* * *

Reggie seemed cautious – twitchy, even – when he pulled up next to a random lawn. He had refused to pull up in front of the bar itself; apparently, the Magnificent Mantle feared nothing but he wasn’t going to mess with the snakes. He did a sloppy job at parking; one of the front wheels went over the patch of wet grass and one of the back ones made an ugly screeching sound against the cracked pavement. Fortunately for them, no one was home to reprimand them for it.

“Just one question…why the fuck did you make me drive you if you had a driver?!”

She shrugged aloofly. “I sent him on a little errand.”

Reggie gave her the evil eye and huffed. “So you made me risk my life by driving you all the way to Southside when you could have just asked him to make a pitstop?”

Veronica couldn’t stop her mouth from twisting into a cunning grin. “Now, now, Reginald, I don’t have to explain myself to you. After all, I’m the one doing you a favour.”

“Fine,” he sulked, “Can you at least tell me what was in the toolbox? I saw you take a peek inside before you handed it over to your driver, which was a bad idea by the way.”

“Can’t tell you,” she said sing-song-like as she popped the passenger door open and demurely swung her legs over the side, “All you need to know is that it’s in good hands.”

Veronica heard him mutter a string of inscrutable things under his breath but she didn’t care enough about what he had to say to ask him to repeat it. The wind felt like a sharp slap to her warm cheeks, she had to stop herself from wincing as she yanked her coat out of the car. She stooped down to the rear window and wiped a wonky line over the thin layer of mist with her glove-covered thumb before pulling the lambskin off. She dropped it into her purse and fished out a matte lipstick. Reggie scowled impatiently from the driver seat as he waited for her to paint her pout. She giggled coquettishly and paced backwards, her heels crisscrossing behind her as she put a hand to her lips and blew him an air kiss.

“Hey, Ronnie!”

Veronica stopped mid-step and snapped her head over her shoulder. Reggie had stuck his head out the window and was waving his hand around like a lunatic.

“Be careful!”

Veronica rolled her eyes but couldn’t help but grin as she flounced across the dirt road and towards the blinking neon green sign of a coiled snake. She wasn’t here in the business of kicking ass, but she guessed that stepping on the tails of some serpents could count as that. There was no bouncer, no ID check, and instead of velvet ropes, there were lines of bikes that lined the entrance. She snaked through the motor show and didn’t allow herself to pause outside the door.

The door made a screechy noise that made her want to grind her teeth as she pushed it forward. She knew it was a bar but did the whole place have to smell like one giant beer-soaked ashtray? Veronica didn’t bother to cover her nose from the musty stink of cheap tobacco that permeated the air, she figured it wouldn’t make much of a difference. She took one look around and came to the conclusion that most of the patrons never saw an inside of any night-time establishment that opened for business post-nineties. That also must be the case for the owners who probably haven’t dealt with the FDA in a very long time. The men were old and the women were haggard with frown lines and signs of substance abuse. The only sign of youth that hung around the place all donned a Serpent jacket and was either working or crowding around the pool table. The raggedy couch that was shoved between the bar and the jukebox had holes all over the cushions, the small rounded tables were all scratched up and the lights that hung above the grimy bar counter flickered on and off based on how heavy the bass ricocheted off the beer-stained velvet walls. A few customers that saw her swagger pass shot her unbidden looks that she took no offense to. According to Jughead, Northsiders weren’t welcomed here and they were smart enough to stay within the lines. Well, she wasn’t a Northsider but she sure wasn’t Southside material either.

“Remember me?”

Veronica glanced up to a dark-haired boy that wasn’t entirely a stranger to her. She crossed her arms over her chest and blinked indifferently at him. It was that sleazy blockhead that tried to scare Jughead off the road after their trip to the garage.

“You’re nothing memorable though so forgive me if I can’t come up with a name.”

He inched forward until his mischievous gaze was levelled with hers, he bared his teeth at her like a hyena. “Sweetpea”

“Good to know,” she snipped, “Now, could you be sweet as your name suggests and move the fuck along?”

He wiggled his brows at her vulgarly. “Ooh, feisty. Me likey.”

“Is he bothering you?”

Fangs may as well have materialised from thin air. The stocky boy stepped out from behind Sweetpea who was at least a whole head taller. He had a wet tray in one hand and an even wetter dish rag clutched in the other. Fangs’ amber eyes bounced back and forth between the two of them uneasily as he slotted himself in the narrow space that separated her and the boorish Serpent.

Veronica gave the tall brunette a lordly once over and decided that: “Yes, in fact, he is.”

“Pea, seriously, man…leave her alone,” Fangs grumbled, his shoulders slumping as he exhaled and scratched the back of his head.

Sweetpea continued to stare her down and tsked.

Veronica rolled her eyes and asked, “You boys know where I can get a drink around here? We’re at a bar, are we not?”

Fangs nodded woodenly. “I’m actually the waiter here. Do you want to have a seat and I’ll go get you whatever you want?”

“Not particularly,” she muttered contemplatively as she looked around the dreary atmosphere, “Maybe I can sit at the bar? I don’t think I want to mingle with the locals, no offence to you guys.”

“Nah, we understand,” Fangs said quickly before Sweetpea could flap his big mouth again, “I’ll walk you.”

“Thanks.”

Sweetpea stuck the cue stick back on the rack and made the move to tag along but Fangs put out a solid hand to his chest. He gave it a timid shove but Sweetpea’s brawny figure barely moved.

He smirked at Fangs, then her as he brushed his hand off like it was a speck of dust. “Suit yourselves.”

“What a fucking asshole,” Veronica huffed under her breath as soon as he was done making a show of swaggering back to the pool table.

“Pea’s not all bad,” Fangs assured as he led her past a cluster of vacant tables that were set out in front of the stage.

On stage was a sad-looking piano man pushed so far to the side of that half of the lid was shrouded behind the velvet emerald curtain. His pale, skinny hand skipped over the keyboards sluggishly to the haunting voice of a torch singer that looked too done up to be performing at such a seedy place. The lights were dimmed other than the one shining splash of warm spotlight that hung over her. The woman had her dark curls gathered to one side and a wilted red rose pinned behind her ear. She swayed brokenly to the sombre music, her eyes that were painted a deep shade of blue fell onto the tiles beneath her platform heels for a split second and Veronica thought she’d never seen a gloomier sight.

“Veronica…”

Her head snapped around at the sound of her name being called so prettily.

Toni Topaz gawked at her openly from behind the bar. She was as much of a looker as Veronica remembered her to be from their first meeting. Even when wrapped in a dirty apron and an oversized t-shirt full of holes, she managed to look effortlessly cool. _Maybe opposites do attract, after all,_ Veronica contemplated as her mind conjured up a chilling image of a certain bombshell dictator. Veronica slid down on one of the stools and rested her elbow on the stained countertop. She perched her chin atop of her linked hand as she inspected the petite girl in front of her with aloof interest. She was a wise choice for a bartender, probably the only wise management choice to have been made at this place. 

Fangs mouthed something at Toni that neither her nor Veronica have any luck at deciphering. Eventually, he gave up and came straight out with it: “Is Jug around?” 

The pink-haired girl shook her head but her doe eyes were still firmly on Veronica. “Is he supposed to be?”

She gave a tight-lipped smile. “I wasn’t expecting him if that’s what you two are thinking.”

“Ok…but does he know you’re here?” Toni asked reluctantly.

“No, he doesn’t.”

And if it all went to plan, he wouldn’t know until she was long gone. She knew he was working a late shift at the garage tonight and he thought he knew she was with Betty for a late-night study session.

“Right…” Toni’s plum lips curling into a subtle smile as she nudged her head to the side as her permission for Fangs to leave, “What do you say to a few drinks then?”

“I’d say “Toni, hit me with the best cocktail you’ve got.”

She gave a small chuckle in response. “Alright, I can do that.”

The girl got to work right away, pouring a generous amount of Hermosa Lodge’s famous rum into a shaker then chased it with two shots of bitters. Then she got to shaking, and thinking aloud, “So wanna tell me what you’re doing on Southside on a school night?”

Veronica flashed her a devious smile. “Wanna tell me how long you’ve been slumming it with Cheryl?”

Toni froze but not for long. With the calmness that Veronica hadn’t expected, she set the cocktail shaker down on the plastic cutting board and picked up the freshly washed orange. The water droplets clung to its bumpy skin as she tossed it up in the air and caught it with a sharp snatching motion. The shrill cooing in the background suddenly grew louder as Toni held her gaze with glacial determination. Veronica resumed her drumming, her manicure clicking noisily against the ridge of the dark wood but Toni stayed focused. She sucked painfully on the inside of her cheeks as the whingy singing soon resembled a howl of a kicked dog. It took everything in Veronica to stop herself from turning around and yelling at the piano man to _“give it a rest.”_

Finally, Toni picked up a small knife. Her stomach churned as the girl got to carving, her unreadable gaze trained on the blade as she asked in a small voice, “You trying to blackmail me, Veronica?”

“No,” she replied dubiously as she plucked a green straw out of the holder, “Just wanted you to know that I know.”

Toni chuckled darkly and gave the mixture one last shake before dumping it into a tall glass, topping it off with a thin strip of orange peel. She pushed the drink towards Veronica with a jerky motion, her soft brown eyes grew hard as she regarded her.

“What can I do for you?”

Veronica stirred her drink aimlessly. “You could tell me about Daniel Montana.”

“I told Jughead everything I knew. It’s not much but that’s all I know,” Toni told her blandly, “The guy came around once or twice every week. He barely spoke to any of the locals. I tried to make talk once and he basically tipped me double so I’d stop.”

“So what? He came in here and sat around by himself?” she asked, unconvinced and uncrossed her legs, “Why would someone do that?”

Veronica knew she was being pushy but something’s gotta give, right?

“Hmm…I guess he wasn’t always alone. I did see him hang around Tall Boy a couple of times,” Toni said contemplatively as she peered up at her from the rigorous scrubbing she was doing to the bottom of a Martini glass. It was far from a friendly look but it wasn’t exactly a glare either. Then, “Oi, Pea! Come over here for a sec!”

“What do you want, Topaz?” Sweetpea scowled from across the bar and tossed his cue stick to some scrawny looking kid. He bounded over to them, an annoyed expression plastered on his face that seemed to only worsen at the sight of her, “Make it snappy. I’m trying to school someone on the art of pool.”

“Yeah, sure Pea,” she grumbled dismissively as she set a clean stout glass down on the drying rack, “You remember that Montana character that lurked around here for a few weeks?”

“How could I forget?” Sweetpea announced, all cocksure, “He was always ducking in and out of Blackjack at all odd hours of the night. I never asked but pretty sure, Tall Boy was doing business with him.”

At the mention of that name, Veronica shot Toni a questioning look.

“It’s a strip joint,” the girl explained patiently, “Tall Boy owns the business.”

Veronica screwed up her eyes in confusion. “So Montana was what? A shareholder?”

Sweetpea barked out a patronising laugh. “Sweetcheeks, there’s no such thing as a shareholder around here. You own a business or work for one, that’s it. Montana was probably working on something else with Tall Boy – don’t know what though, maybe he wanted to get in on the rum stuff – who the fuck knows?”

“Where is he anyway? I haven’t seen him around lately?” Toni asked.

“Try the last two weeks,” Sweetpea corrected.

Toni turned to the boy, her brows had shot so far they were practically one with her hairline. “Seriously?”

He nodded steadily. “Yeah, the last time I saw of him was right before he left the house on a Saturday night. Said he was going over to Mustang’s for a poker game and never came home.”

“And you’re not worried?”

“It’s Tall Boy he comes and goes wherever the wind takes him. He probably just went out of town for business and forgot to tell us. That or he’s having one hell of a bender.”

Montana and Tall Boy were working together on something, and now Tall Boy was missing. _He wasn’t just missing_ , Veronica corrected herself sombrely as she took a frazzled sip of her drink, _he was more likely dead_. Tall Boy was the corpse at Thornhill, he had to be – AWOL for two weeks, last seen on Saturday night, a burly stranger with an older leather jacket. Everything added up except for the fact that Jughead hid this from her. He had to have known it was Tall Boy, he just didn’t want her knowing it too. Either way, this was a win for her. The connection between the two shady men couldn’t have been a coincidence. This was it, this was the lead she’d been scouring Riverdale for. It dawned upon Veronica as she finished draining her glass that the truth could set you free but so will the perfect fall guy. The dead couldn’t speak and Tall Boy was one dead man, what difference would one more criminal charge matter beyond the grave?

“I’d say so,” Toni muttered evenly as she got herself a glass of water. She abruptly made a whining noise as she poured the liquid down her throat, and asked, “Have you checked with Mustang? Maybe Tall Boy is in some kind of trouble and laying low at his place.”

“Yeah, I checked,” the boy replied coolly, “Mustang said he walked out in the middle of a hand and that was the last he’d seen of him,” he paused and gave a negligent shrug, “Anyway, I’m not gonna worry about it until it hits the one month mark.”

Sweetpea slumped down on the stool next to her and slapped the counter boisterously. “How about a beer now, Topaz?”

“Sure thing, Pea,” she glanced at Veronica like there were words clogging up her throat but whatever it was she didn’t dare spit it out. Instead, she walked over to the fridge and left the two of them to their own devices.

The howling lady was done with her siren song, her heel scraping irritably against the stage floor as she drew wonky circles around herself. The light had long burned out and the music had reached its final note. Veronica couldn’t help but jump at the screechy, pitchy sound that erupted from the stage. The piano man had finally passed out from all the booze he’d been chugging, his head smacking into a few mismatched keys as he slumped over. She heard Sweetpea rumbling with mocking laughter from beside her and ignored it for as long as she could. She’d never met a boy outside of kindergarten that enjoyed scaring little girls.

“I’m bored,” Veronica announced, all bratty and entitled. 

She began to swing her legs back and forth until the heel of her boot was caught between his ankles. He grinned at her triumphantly and squeezed down hard enough on her aching muscle to make her yelp. She couldn’t retreat now even if she wanted to and god, did she want to.

Sweetpea lunged out of his stool and cornered her so that she had to ram her side into the round edge of the bar. There was a greedy gleam reflected in his dark eyes as he showed her all his teeth and, “What should we do about that?”

Veronica swallowed, her throat even drier than what it was when she first slinked into the Whyte Wyrm. “Want to go to Blackjack?”

* * *

Blackjack was the kind of place that your parents warned you to stay away from but so was Sweetpea so it was only fitting that he was the one to take her there.

The music was loud, the lights were erratic, the walls were sweltering, and the men were hungry for flesh and the women were as well but for the dollars. The joint was considerably busier than the Whyte Wyrm. _So that’s what Southsiders do on a weeknight_ , Veronica thought absentmindedly as Sweetpea’s clammy palm applied extra pressure to the curve of her spine and propelled her forward. She sent a glare over her shoulder and he promptly dodged it by yanking her back before she could crash into a sweaty old man. The greying man glanced over at them dully but his sleepy eyes lit up with recognition as they reached Sweetpea’s face. The two clearly knew one another; Sweetpea greeted him with a cool nod and the man responded rather enthusiastically by shoving a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon into his hand, and another into hers. “ _Have fun ya crazy kids!!”_ Veronica heard the old fart holler after them as they snaked through the crowd. That wasn’t the first stranger to have greeted them with the zealousness of an old friend since they arrived. The big, fat bouncer that was supposed to guard the door didn’t even bother to card them. She could tell by the warm smile that was exchanged between him and her dark-haired companion that they were friends. Although she was beginning to think that Sweetpea was friends with everyone that hung around this place.

Veronica felt around her pocket for her phone and tried to be discreet as possible when she pulled it out from under the layer of wool. There was a lone text message sitting at the top of the screen. _Smithers did always strike her as a quick replier_ , Veronica thought as she swallowed down a cheer of relief that jumped out of her throat and shoved the phone back in place. She threw a side glance in Sweetpea’s direction and was glad to see that he was fully absorbed in all the twerking that was happening.

Veronica pulled a wrinkled dollar out of her purse and threw it at the short but curvy blonde that wasn’t getting enough attention. The woman adjusted her wonky wig and winked at her appreciatively as she spun around to perform for the gents on the other side. She watched as the ice blonde wrapped a meaty leg around the metal pole, vaguely fascinated as she twirled around. She was about to reward her with another dollar when a heavy arm slung over her shoulder. A shot of tequila was dangled over her eyeline and the sharp, acidic smell struck her in the nostril like a fist to her nose.

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” she yelled over the EDM beat that was pulsating through them and downed the shot in one brave gulp.

Sweetpea wound his arm tighter around her collarbone and pulled her along, his voice was gravelly against her ear, “Nah, that’s not my jam. What do ya say we go smoke some grass?”

There was no shame in admitting that she was still trying to shake off the buzz that Reggie Mantle so generously supplied earlier that night. He was right, that really was “dank ass” weed. It had to be if it got her loose enough to ask Sweetpea to take her to Blackjack. She didn’t need want or need another hit but it made for a good excuse to survey the premises. She still had to find an inconspicuous enough place to stash the thing that came inside the toolbox.

“Sure,” Veronica agreed with a nod.

Veronica thought she may have heard Sweetpea reply with something colloquial like “dope” before he dragged her with him through the sweaty crowd. She was momentarily distracted by a waitress who had nothing on but a pair of pasties and when she tore her eyes away, they were trudging down a narrow hallway. The walls were peeling and the yellow paint that went over old marks was thinned out and scrappy. The electro beat had switched over to an electro-pop song she knew half the words to but can’t name, it reverberated through the tiny speakers that were installed to each corner of the stained ceiling. She hardly noticed the door at the end of the hallway until she was thrust through it.

It was a tiny office and it was a perfect place to hide the evidence so that it would later be found.

Sweetpea swaggered over to one of the desks and started pulling out all the drawers. He grumbled a gruff “ _gimme a sec_ ” without looking over to her. She Veronica could hardly see any of the metal surface what with all the paper works and balled up fast food wrappers that were left scattered. She cringed at all the banging sound that Sweetpea produced when he kicked a drawer back in and did the same with the rest of them. He was the least delicate human she’d ever come across, Veronica observed as she cast her bored gaze over to the other desk that was shoved right up against the tinted window. It was in a similar state of disarray and at least one of the legs was crooked. Her own reflection rebounded off the surface despite the thin layer of dust that went over it. That brought out her narcissistic tendencies and encouraged her to come closer. _She looked like death_ , Veronica thought as she inspected her mirror-image. Her lips looked like they were crusted over with tar and her all-black ensemble, which she initially considered to be a chic sartorial choice, made her resemble a creature from the underworld. If Penelope Blossom was the bogeyman, then she was the grim reaper.

Her heavy eyes fell on the latch covered in cobwebs and wondered if it would be easy to undo, how much time she would need and how much strength it would require her to open. Veronica looked around the eerily deserted view that stared back at her and saw not a single soul, just an old truck that was parked across the street where an abandoned gas pump stood. Sweetpea was still busy ripping the office apart. She heard him grunt like a farm animal up for slaughter, then saw half his arm disappear into the bottom drawer. Veronica took her chance at snapping a pic of the dreary view and sent it to Smithers before the Serpent boy could stick his head out from under the desk. She put her phone away and spun around just in time to grace him with an innocent smile. He returned it but there was a grimy quality to the curve of his lips as he sunk down on the knackered leather armchair. Veronica scooted her backside onto the rigid frame of the window and watched Sweetpea frown down at the thin strip of rolling paper, his sable orbs squinting in concentration as he pinched it between his pudgy fingers and sprinkled the dried buds onto it.

Veronica was usually a fan of silence but she discovered that she wasn’t a fan of sharing it with him. Needing a conversation starter, she picked up a silver-framed photograph and dusted off a blanket of dirt. It was a picture of a man who looked identical to Tall Boy, and perched on his lap was a mean-faced looking boy with inky black hair that almost looked shiny under the flash of the camera.

“Is this you?” she asked, twisting the frame over to show Sweetpea the picture.

“My uncle and I.”

Tall Boy was his uncle, that realisation washed over her like a bucket of ice water. His uncle was dead and he had no idea. Now, she really needed that high to block that thought out.

* * *

Veronica had done enough weed in her lifetime to know after the first three puffs that she had overdone it for the night. She was going to have to work fast if she wanted to get the job done before greening the fuck out.

It was eleven-thirty when Sweetpea and Veronica finished off the blunt. He’d offered to roll another one but she’d given it a miss. Instead, she put on her best flirtatious act and asked him to fetch an array of drinks Hennessey, vodka, wine, rum, whiskey, and just about everything else on the menu. That should keep him occupied for another ten minutes – twelve minutes tops, if the size of the crowd outside was anything to go by. He left the office around eleven thirty-four, full of promises and smarmy looks. Smithers pulled up next to the gas pump a minute or two after. Veronica tried to blink away the psychedelic blur that was keeping her from thinking straight when she saw the headlights flicked off. She tried again and again until Smithers had jogging across the road. Veronica flicked up the latch after two tries and thrust her weight against the window until it budged open. She glanced up at the clock on the wall only to realise it was broken. _Fuck,_ she cursed loud enough for the sound to echo in her ears. Smithers was standing face-to-face with the window, his fingers working frantically to undo the knot to his coat. Veronica tapped her foot anxiously against the unpolished floor as she snatched up her plaid scarf and wound it around her hand and took a quick peek at her phone – eleven thirty-seven, it read. She thought she might have muttered a ‘thank you’ to Smithers as his gloved hand shoved through the gap but she could barely hear anything over the angry wind that was whipping at his silver mane. Out of sheer will, she commanded her hand to stay solid as she made a fist around the blood-stained crowbar. She stared at the patch of crimson that coated the metal like a thick layer of paint – it paralysed her the first time she saw it sitting in the toolbox and she didn’t think she could ever shake the deadened the feeling that came over her at that moment. When she tore her bleary eyes away, Smithers was gone as if he’d never been there in the first place. The six ticked over to seven on the screen that was only getting brighter and brighter as her brain starts to succumb to the high. She shook it off as well as the chill that climbed up the back of her neck. There was an old briefcase slotted into the narrow crevice between two wooden storage chests. She’d thought about stuffing it in one of the trunks but she wasn’t confident that she could do up all the locks in time, so instead, she settled on the flimsy leather briefcase. It wasn’t too obvious but it was conspicuous that it would catch the eyes of some detective. Veronica watched as the time tick to thirty-nine as she used the other end of her scarf to hold the flap open and dropped the crowbar in the front compartment. She felt the blood drain from her legs from all the squatting she’d been doing but worked through it, her fingers strangely nimble as they push the buckle into place. She took that as a fucked up sign that she was becoming accustomed to the constant danger. The time read eleven forty-one when Sweetpea barrelled through the door with his arms full of bottles. Veronica was barely balancing her weight on one foot, the other was pushed up against the wall to keep her from collapsing. 

“The hell? You’re shaking.”

He was right. Veronica could feel her toes trembling uncontrollably in the cushiony comfort of her knee-high boots.

“Just thought we’d some fresh air in here,” Veronica told him breezily and kept her ass firmly planted on the windowsill, “We wouldn’t want to stink up the office.”

Sweetpea bought it easily enough. “Yeah, you right.”

She almost felt bad about framing his dead uncle for an unknown murder. Almost.

* * *

When she sees Jughead she’s all kinds of fucked up. She thinks that the only thing that was keeping her on her toes is the adrenaline from all the anger and betrayal that had consumed her. Still, it didn’t stop her heart from clenching at that first sight of him. It was becoming a bad habit but she didn’t know how to quit, not when he was like a heart palpitation after six months of comatose.

Sweetpea had been trying to talk to her about something. He was pointing at a dancer who was giving him too much attention for the ten dollars he’d tucked into her G-string. Veronica pretended to listen, even if it sounded like static noise to her. All the while, she was trying to figure out if she was mostly drunk or high. Then she saw _him_ , standing there under a pool of colliding neon lights. He had on his usual leather jacket but when he turned to the side and looked around the room like he was trying to catch someone (her), she could see that he was wearing his work gear underneath it. He must have driven here straight from his shift at the garage. He looked uncomfortable amongst a sea of perverts and oil-slicked, half-naked women. One of the girls slinked down on the pole and started to ask him something that made him squirm as he shook his head ‘no.’ That almost made her laugh.

Veronica didn’t know who went to who. She didn’t feel her feet moving but at this point, she didn’t even remember what the ground felt like. Sweetpea and her have been floating since ten to twelve. However, she felt a tingly sensation that fought against the numbness of her face as her mouth worked to form a basic ‘hi.’ She must have been smiling too because her gum was burning.

Jughead didn’t have to pull her aside, she moved on her own accord and moulded herself into his body. He felt so warm, like crawling under an expensive duvet on a cold New York winter. She felt her flesh hum pleasantly as his arm wound around her shoulder, the pad of his thumb drawing soothing circles and patterns over the woollen sleeve of her boat neck top. Veronica gazed up at the ceiling, at the smoke-infested air, at his face and saw that he was grimacing at Sweetpea like he wanted to sock him in the nose. Then he looked down at her like he was unsure if he wanted to yell at her or hold her so close that she’d never leave him ever again. For once, the feeling was mutual.

He ducked his head and whispered something to Sweetpea, something she couldn’t hear even if she really applied her hearing. The two exchanged some words – strained but subdued, and Veronica idly wondered if he blamed Sweetpea for her being here. She should probably tell him this was all her idea – maybe later. Jughead didn’t let go of her for the brief duration of that conversation, except for a split second to shove Sweetpea back when he tried to take her by the elbow. She didn’t think she would have even noticed if not for all the booing that erupted around them. Apparently, the customers weren’t here to watch a tussle.

Veronica thought she might be coming down but then she was standing outside next to the neon sign. The emerald light flicked on and off to the sound of her beating heart. She didn’t know how they got here. All she knew was what they couldn’t have been out here for long because the janky beat of an east coast rap song was still pounding in her head. She really shouldn’t have done that last joint. 

She expected him to light a cigarette but instead, he swiped a hand over his ghostly pale face and asked: “Wanna tell me how you wound up in Southside?”

Veronica held her chin up in a show of courage. “Reggie drove me.”

Jughead arched a brow, he looked even more pissed if that was possible. 

“That’s immaterial,” she waved off the cloud of question marks that floated over his head, “How did you know where to find me?”

“Toni texted me.”

She stuck her tongue out childishly and blew a raspberry. “Snitch”

Jughead carefully leaned over but both his feet remained firmly planted on the ground. The zipper of his jacket scratched against her collar bone and his nose ghosted the matted stray curl that grazed her collarbone. He smelled like sandalwood, cigarettes, and grease oil. She had the urge to smother herself in it because tomorrow can’t roll over soon enough.

“You’re stoned,” he observed with a sneer, “I can smell it on you.”

Veronica swept her tongue over her cracked bottom lip and tried to focus on the angry contorted lines of his face. “So I am.”

She heard him cursed under his breath as he latched onto her elbow, “Let’s get out of here.”

“No,” Veronica said brusquely and flung her arm out of his hold. The rough edges of his nails raked against the vein on her wrist, causing her to wince even further as she recoiled, “Not until you answer some questions.”

He stared at her, uncomprehending but waiting nevertheless. Veronica watched him dazedly as he shrugged off his jacket and wrapped it around her, he wasn’t gentle but he wasn’t rough either. She took that time to gather her wits because she wanted to have a calm, rational discussion about it but it wasn’t working. The words were threatening to spill out of the space at the back of her throat where they’ve been choking her since she allowed Sweetpea to lead her out of the Whyte Wyrm.

“Why didn’t you tell me it was Tall Boy?” she dug her nails into the lines of her palms but it did little to diminish her vexation, “That night at Cheryl’s party.”

“Because it was better that you didn’t know.”

Jughead answered too quickly like he had been expecting it come up.

She wanted to swing at his face but her arm felt too heavy to move. “Why the hell not?”

He ignored her and shuffled closer so he could ask, “Did you tell Pea?”

Veronica appraised him laconically. No,” Then quietly, “No, of course not.”

Jughead nodded, his chest deflating as he exhaled a loaded breath

“You have to tell me why.”

“Do you really have to ask?” he gritted out, she suspected it was to help hold in the yell that was ready to rip through him at any moment, “It’s all Southside – it’s the fuckeries that comes with the territory,” he scoffed, a dry bitter sound, “You really want to throw a hissy fit at me for trying to keep you from it?”

“I thought we were in it together,” she said plainly.

“We are,” Jughead said like he was begging her to understand him, “Weren’t we both standing right there at Thornhill, in some dark closet watching it all play out?! But what, I’m supposed to raise the stakes and tell you what, when, and why Tall Boy had to be killed?”

“Yes! That’s called being honest, Jug.”

“You’re one to talk,” he retorted bitterly, “What happened to spending the night at Betty’s?”

She bristled. “It’s not even comparable to you lying –“

“I didn’t lie about shit,” he snapped back before she could even take a shaky breath, “And what’s honesty going to do for you anyway? It’s not going to make you sleep better at night and it sure won’t keep you safe.”

Veronica shook her head stubbornly. “I should get to decide whether I take that risk or not. It’s not up to you – “

“Well, I decided anyway,” Jughead spat, a frantic look burning in his midnight eyes as he grabbed onto her shoulder and dragged them both into a dark wet alcove where no one would be able to hear them. She shoved him with all her strength and his back collided into the brick wall with a sickening ‘crunch.’ He didn’t even flinch when he continued, “I decided so if – when the time comes, you couldn’t implicate yourself. I decided so you could stay the fuck out of the same vile shit that’s been giving me the run around since the day I was born. I decided because if you pick wrong, you don’t get to just turn your back on it and run away.”

“Don’t you think I know?” Veronica’s head was throbbing painfully as she thundered, “Sure, I don’t make dinner table conversations about what I saw at Thornhill but that doesn’t mean I haven’t grasped how much shit we’re in just for being there.”

“Do you?” he took a few steps towards her until his leg was shoved right between her thighs. Her breath hitched and she hoped he didn’t notice the effect he was having on her, “Because if you do, tell me why thought it was such a bright idea roam around Southside in the middle of the night with a Serpent?”

“He’s your friend,” she bit out.

He clenched his jaw then unclenched it. “That doesn’t make him any less trouble.”

“I can look out for myself,” Veronica whispered, caught somewhere between insolent and apologetic.

Jughead held her contemptuous gaze until she thought her chest would explode, then pulled away completely. Until then Veronica never knew one could feel so much relief and disappointment all at once.

“Trust me, I know you’re capable of that and basically everything else. I know you are but have you ever stopped to think about where that would leave me if something happened to you?” he didn’t dare look at her as he spoke, his voice gruff but tender, “Veronica – “ he stuttered over her name like hers wasn’t going to be the one he took to his grave and more, “You’re the most important person in my life. I’m sorry if that scares you but it scares me more that there’s a lunatic killer running around town and you’ve gone on as if you don’t give a shit if you’re dead or alive. Well, I fucking do, alright? I care – I’d care if I woke up tomorrow and you went missing. I wouldn’t know what to fucking do with myself. I’m not asking you hole up in your apartment. I know that’s not how you roll but for fuck’s sake, _please,”_ he reached out to touch her then, his hand circled her wrist and his fingers on her cheek that was now moist with angry tears she hadn’t realised was spilt because of him, _“_ Please, Veronica _,_ have some fucking mercy on me and think about what danger you’re putting yourself in before you go ahead and do it.”

Veronica had nothing – not a card up her sleeve, not even a witty remark pull herself out of the pile of crap she’d buried herself in. She knew it was a weak way to try and win the fight, but it was all she had.

“You shouldn’t have kept it a secret from me.”

Jughead hands slid off her in one fell swoop, the imprints of his palms were still warm on her skin but she missed the contact anyway. “I won’t apologize. Not for this.”

He sniffed, wiping his reddening nose with the back of his hand as he turned his back on her, kicking the mud off his Docs as he strode off into the night. “Go home, Veronica.”

It started to rain a few minutes later. The droplets tasted like mistakes and unsaid sorry’s.


	15. Chapter 15

Naturally, she came to school on Monday bearing a peace offering.

“I’m sorry for being a bitch.”

Veronica thrust her offering into his chest and he neither accepted nor rejected it. His stormy gaze fell on the tan cardboard box like a bomb would on a deserted land.

“You forgot to apologize for the part where you ratted me out to Toni for telling you about her and Cheryl.”

She tipped her head to the side, her eyes pleaded at him to let her off the hook but he only stared back at her expectantly. Begrudgingly, she mumbled out her second apology for the day and it wasn’t even nine yet.

Jughead smiled but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m sorry for yelling at you.”

She shrugged like she was trying to tell him to give it no mind because that was indeed what she wanted to convey. “I probably deserved it.”

“I would have told you if I didn’t think there would be some sort of repercussion.”

 _She didn’t even doubt that was true,_ Veronica swallowed, the lump in her throat was the size of a golf-ball. She was sorry for losing her shit at him the way she did but that didn’t mean she was sorry that it got the truth out of him.

“They’re Italian leather,” she told him as if it was imperative that he knew, “So don’t ever say I skimped on you.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” he replied lightly as he shoved the cardboard lid aside and ran his finger through the stitching, “Huh, very fancy.”

“Problem with that?”

Jughead peered up at her, his eyes were playful and the curve of his lips was too. “When am I gonna find a chance to wear these?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, putting on a lofty tone, “You can wear them to another unnecessarily fancy party that I force you to attend. Except I won’t throw up on them this time, that would be disastrous on the leather.”

“Catastrophic even.”

He was making fun of her now.

She sucked in her bottom lip and tentatively asked, “Does this mean we’re good?”

“We are,” he nodded heavily, “But only if you promise not to go on another one-man excursion to Southside.”

“Technically, I wasn’t alone…” Veronica started coltishly, “I was with Sweetpea.”

Jughead cocked his head and appraised her with an impatient look. “Take it or leave it, Veronica.”

“How about a compromise?”

Just as she predicted, he immediately grimaced at the mere suggestion of a middle ground.

“Hear me out first before you pass judgement,” Veronica urged as she laid a tender hand on his arm and squeezed, “I’ll tell you next time I plan to visit Southside alone and we can decide together what to do. Does that sound fair?”

“Not really,” he mumbled and looked away, “But it’s the best I’m going to get from you, isn’t it?”

Again, she shrugged.

“You know what’s unfair? The fact that you knew I couldn’t stay mad at you for long,” Jughead traded the shoebox in for a scrappy binder and a spiral notebook then nudged his locker shut, “I swear It’s never a fair fight with you.”

“Okay, but does this mean I’ve won?” Veronica asked cheekily, it made her wonder if he thought her little act to be cute.

Jughead rolled his eyes as he snatched up her wrist, his fingers felt like candle drippings as they skidded across her flesh and onto her palm. “Don’t push it”

He tugged her along to AP English and she decided this was indeed the time to “push it.”

“I promised Betty that we’ll go bowling with them tomorrow night,” she told him and quickly added before he could protest, “And before you say you’re busy, I know your next shift is not until Thursday.”

He groaned just as their fingers intertwined. Veronica took it as her cue to lead and dragged them both to the first period before the bell could toll. 

* * *

Veronica didn’t know what was odder; seeing Archie and Jughead finally get along or seeing Jughead in gym shorts. She whispered her plight to Betty who as a response, giggled even more than she did ten minutes ago when Archie peeled off his sweaty Bulldog’s shirt.

“It’s so wonderful that they’re friends again,” Betty gushed from beside her as they watch Archie pat Jughead on the back in encouragement as he sprinted by, “Arch would never admit it but he totally missed Jug during all that time that they weren’t speaking.”

Veronica smirked. “Oh boys, they’re a bunch of softies just like the rest of us.”

The pep rally was only a few days away, which made for the perfect excuse to get out of class for what Cheryl had dramatically dubbed “the last dance before the battle.” It would have been a fun little hang out session for the girls if Cheryl wasn’t ruining it by being extra bossy. Veronica had a feeling that the bombshell’s bitchy mood had something to do with her dirty, little secret that she’d kept hidden on the Southside but since she’d yet to punish her for it, she thought she must have been in the clear. They’d gone through the routine a couple of times now and would have probably gotten more practice in if Cheryl didn’t stop after every other count to ream some poor junior girl out for the pettiest of things. Even Midge had gotten annoyed and told them all just as much when she stormed off after the second run-through, tossing her pom-poms at Cheryl as she disappeared under the bleachers. It became clear after that that the squad needed a minute or ten to cool off.

That was how the girls wound up sitting by the football field, pretending to do stretches so they could watch coach Clayton terrorize his physical ed class into running twenty laps around the oval.

Archie had already lapped past a few times with Moose hot on his trails. Betty, ever the supportive ‘friend’, put on her shrill voice to cheer him on whenever she saw him approach the bench they’ve been resting on. The redheaded jock didn’t really need all the rallying to keep him going but he did shoot them a tired but grateful smile whenever he heard the blonde shriek out his name. Betty could do with a reminder that the boys weren’t running a real marathon and there was no real price to be won but she thought why rain on her friend’s parade. Jughead, on the other hand, wasn’t doing nearly as well. He wasn’t coming in last but he wasn’t far off it either.

“God, he’s so gangly,” Veronica muttered under her breath as she watched Jimmy speed pass him.

“V,” Betty scolded with a scandalized smile and swatted her lightly, “You’re supposed to be cheering him on, not wearing him down even more.”

“Oh hush, Jug’s a big boy. He can take it,” she grinned as she hopped out of her seat and started to jog backward to match his slow but steady pace, “Struggling a bit there, Juggie?”

She heard him grunt a pained “ _shut up”_ and chuckled.

“Oh come on, I know you’re shaped like a bean pole but surely you can run faster than that,” she teased as she moved closer to the tracks.

“You think so?” Jughead asked between ragged breath, his blue eyes flicking over to meet her impish gaze.

Seeing him completely knackered stirred a new wave of laughter inside of her but the sound caught in her throat when she felt herself being yanked off the ground. Veronica instinctively started to kick around, her feet desperately searching for a flat surface to latch onto but it only resulted in her being hauled up even higher. She yelped over the sound of Jughead muttering something against her ear, the warm puff of his breath tickled the back of her neck and his fingers tickled everywhere else they could reach.

“Forsythe Pendleton Jones,” she shrieked out in a manner that was reminiscent of Betty as she thrashed around, “I – Put me down – I’m being – I’m serious, right now – J – Jughead, I demand that you – put me down – right – ugh – right this instance!”

But he didn’t listen and dug his fingers even further into her side, his nails felt like a hundred feathers across her ribcage. He was laughing now too, almost as uncontrollably as she was as his grip tightened around her to stop her from completely toppling over him.

“Oh my god, you guys!” Veronica could hear Betty chastise them from afar but she couldn’t stop herself from laughing either.

“JONES!!!” Coach Clayton roared from across the field, all red-faced and eyes bulging as he blew into his whistle like a maniac, “This is a PE class – not the funhouse! Quit playing, put that young lady down and get your ass back to running, NOW!”

Jughead gently set her down on the ground but looked far from regretful for his little prank. In fact, he flashed her a shit-eating grin as he brushed a couple of damp curls back only for them to flop back onto his forehead again. Coach Clayton was yelling _“go, go, go_ ” like he was prepared to burst a vein over it but Jughead made it clear that he was in no hurry as he ducked his head down next to hers and whispered a smug “ _who’s struggling now_?” before resuming his lap. _Unbelievable,_ Veronica thought to herself, shaking her head ruefully as she watched him run off into the distance. She made sure to jerk down her skirt as she wandered back to the bench where Betty was still trying to recover from her laughing fit. Thank god for safety shorts or else the whole football field would have been known what colour underwear she had on today.

Veronica groaned as she plopped down next to the blonde, “Did you see how proud of himself he looked for that stunt he just pulled in front of half the senior year?”

“You’ve got to admit that it was kind of funny, V,” Betty said with an encouraging smile, “Although I had no idea that Jughead had enough strength to lift anyone – or anything!”

“Yeah, maybe he should be proud of himself after all,” she laughed as she adjusted her ponytail, “Do you think Cheryl’s still set on making us do another run-through, or should we just ditch now and have an early finish?”

“I don’t think so…” the blonde said but didn’t sound too sure as she looked around, “I don’t see anyone else waiting around so maybe Cheryl dismissed everyone and we missed it.”

“Great, let’s scram before she changes her mind,” Veronica suggested and pulled Jughead’s sweatshirt over her head. She hadn’t asked if she could borrow it but he deserved to brave the cold for a bit after the stunt he pulled, “The boys can meet us later at Pop’s or something.”

“Good idea,” Betty nodded agreeably as she stood up and swung the strap of her pastel sports bag over her shoulder, “Hey V, before I forget, I’ve got a favour to ask you.”

She sent Jughead a quick text to let him know that she’d see him later at the diner and blinked up at the blonde that had moved to stand before her. “What’s up?”

“Do you think I can borrow your car after the pep rally?”

Veronica swallowed down the last of the water in her bottle and got up on her feet. “If this is about the after-party then not to worry, B. I’ve already asked Smithers to give us a ride there.”

“Oh no, it’s not for that,” Betty said in a small voice and picked at the side of her thumb, “I was actually hoping to go visit my sister.”

“What do you mean?” Veronica asked, her steps halting.

“You know how my parents are about Polly,” Betty said like that should have been enough of an explanation on its own, “They haven’t let me go up there to see her once since they’ve sent her away. I’ve asked a bunch of times already and they’ve never given me a straight response, V. If I don’t go now when I have the chance then I don’t know when I’ll get to see Polly again, if ever.”

 _That was certainly odd_ , Veronica furrowed her brows. “Did they ever tell you why not?”

Betty shook her head solemnly. “They always make up some excuses as to why but they don’t really make sense. Once, they told me it’s a bad time because Polly’s in the middle of some herbal cleanse. How ridiculous is that?!”

“Very,” she nodded in agreeance and laid a sympathetic hand on her friend’s sagging shoulder, “You can absolutely borrow my car, B. Bring it back the day after if you want, there’s no rush.”

Betty’s green eyes shone with unbearable warmth as she turned to Veronica and said, “I knew I could count on you, V.”

* * *

“Fuck,” Veronica gritted out as Betty dabbed at her waterline with a cotton swap, “This was exactly why I told Brigitte to go easy on the glitter.”

Betty pouted at her sympathetically. “If it makes you feel any better, V, you looked amazing out there.”

 _I know,_ it was a vain thing to think but it shouldn’t be since it was true. Her cupie was solid as ever and that had to be her best needle yet. Cheryl – the dumb fucking bitch – was so sure that she didn’t have it in her to hold it for more than fifteen seconds. Well, she proved her wrong and gave her twenty. She nearly pulled a joint holding doing it but it was worth it to see the look of total incredulity on the bombshell’s face.

“Does anyone have eye drops on them?!” Veronica yelled out to no one and everyone on the squad, “I’m about to lose my fucking eye over here!”

“Here,” Ginger rushed over with a bottle in hand, “You killed it up there, Veronica!”

“Thank you, Ginger,” she had to slap on a big fake smile to keep herself from snapping.

Betty titled her chin up and held her still as she squeezed a droplet and another onto her eyeball. Veronica exhaled pleasantly at the reliving sensation that soothed the burn that was frying her cornea a second ago. She kept blinking until the bleariness dissipated and Betty looked more like Tinkerbell to her than an expressionism painting.

“How’s that?” Betty asked sweetly as she screwed the lid back onto the tiny green bottle.

“Much better,” Veronica sighed, sounding and looking much more Zen now, “Okay, now get out of here while you still can.”

The Coopers had taken a break from watching their daughter like a couple of hawks and were engaged what looked to be a one-sided conversation with Weatherbee, probably badgering the man with a series of parental concerns. Veronica knew they had a very limited window to get Betty out before they revert back to their overbearing ways.

“You sure?” the blonde asked, her glossy lips threatening to fold into a frown.

Betty must have dodged the glitter bomb that went off before the game because unlike Veronica, she didn’t resemble a disco balk. She couldn’t get out the door fast enough and fell victim to all the sparkle face paints Midge’s mother had purchased specially for the occasion. So while she suffered through temporary blindness, Betty had to double up on towel duty and wipe them both down during half time. At least that kept the blonde distracted; Veronica could have sworn that she saw Betty swoon when Archie got tackled to the ground by a linebacker in the last quarter.

“Positive,” Veronica affirmed as she gave Betty a shove in the direction of the girl’s changing room, “Keys are in the left, front pocket, and car’s parked right behind the gym.”

“Thanks so much, V. I – “

“Don’t mention it,” she waved off her show of gratitude, “Now, hurry before Cheryl comes over here and finds something to complain about.”

In the end, Cheryl was too caught up in whatever drama she had going on with Josie to spare her energy on the rest of them. Veronica was beyond glad to leave when the football team did; she wasn’t in the mood to do anymore spelling with her aching limbs. 

Jughead never showed for the pep rally. She had stupidly held out hope until she was hoisted up into the air and still couldn’t spot his face in the buzzing crowd. It didn’t even occur to her that he might bail even with the three hours of radio silence. She wasn’t the type to check how long her text had gone unanswered and he wasn’t the type to break promises, which made it that much more disheartening. That in itself had taken her by surprise, Veronica was sure she’d stopped being disappointed in people for good when she was twelve and her mother disappeared without a word to the Bahamas for a three-month vacation. She didn’t want to admit that his absence had hurt, but that was what it was – she was hurt.

She tried to find some solace in the Bulldog’s landslide victory against Stonewall Prep’s Stallions. But if she was being honest with herself, she didn’t give two shits who won. She barely had time to watch the game with all the peacekeeping she was doing between Cheryl and Josie whose beef had escalated from casual trash-talking to full-blown hair pulling during the pyramid formation. It was like amateur hour from the sideline, which seemed to be a recurring theme for the night.

Veronica was still trying to scrub the slimy patch of glitter off her cheek when Archie bound over to her. He looked like he’d been dunked with a gallon of water and his face was almost the same shade as his flaming hair. Sweat dripped off him like a waterfall as he jogged towards her and the bright spotlight that shone behind him made him glitter against the chaotic aftermath of a victory. It was like something straight out of ‘Friday Night Lights.’ She showed some mercy for his physically fatigued state and stopped in her tracks, allowing him a moment to catch up to her.

“Hey,” she greeted brightly as he came to a stop before her, “Look at you, the man of the hour."

“Not you too,” Archie murmured hash fully as he wiped down the back of his neck with a towel.

“You know it’s true,” Veronica sing-songed as they start to walk again, her bag occasionally bumping into his swinging arm, “You should be very proud of yourself, Archie. You practically won the game for us with that last touch down!”

“It was a team effort but thanks, Ronnie,” he flashed her a sweet smile before guzzling down some Powerade, “And you – Kevin wasn’t kidding when he said you knew some stunts this town had never seen before!”

She did her best to appear humble. “Oh shucks.”

“I think you might have distracted some of the guys on the other team with that split that you did during the first quarter,” Archie chuckled sheepishly at his own remark and clasped a hand over her shoulder, “So where’s Betty?”

Veronica regarded him carefully but she couldn’t discern any signs that he knew of the blonde’s secret plan. So she did what any good friend would do and lie, “She’s got a family emergency and had to run after the game.”

“Oh ok…” Archie hesitated, “She could have at least waited to congratulate me or something – or a goodbye would have been nice.”

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at his self-involvement. “It didn’t sound like it could wait, Archie.”

He shrugged without any real compassion. “Yeah, alright. Can I still catch that ride with you and Jug to the party?”

“Sure,” she nodded, “But it will just be us two.”

Archie turned to her with a jumbled look.

“I haven’t seen him all night. Have you?”

He shook his head. “That’s not like Jug to bail at the last moment. Just after school today, he asked me to tell my dad to save him a seat at the game.”

Veronica was about to concur when a blur of dark hair and football jersey flew past them.

“Yo, Andrews! That was a close call, man, my dad would have called off the blowout if we’d lost tonight,” Reggie Mantel clapped a heavy hand on Archie’s back that sent him surging forward, “Ronniekins, you were looking sexy out there. You still coming to the party?”

Veronica smiled tightly. “Wouldn’t dream of missing it.”

“Sick,” he said coolly, “So did you clear it?”

Archie quirked a brow. “Clear what?”

“Nothing,” Veronica sputtered as she took a step back and drove her heel into the back of Reggie’s foot. The idiot yelped out in pain – good, she preferred him whimpering than talking, “Cleared it with Featherhead that our English project is good to go.”

Archie looked adequately satisfied with that explanation and bid them both a “ _see you in a bit_ ” before turning into the boys changing room. Once the door had swung shut behind him, Veronica swivelled around to reprimand Reggie with a glare.

“Geez, chill out!” he was the one that needed to chill with that paranoid look on his. He noticed a couple of Bulldog players were trailing a few steps behind them and swiftly told them to “f _uck off.”_

Of course, she’d been so busy trying to plant a murder weapon that she forgot all about the actual person that delivered it to her.

“Ronnie, I don’t know what that really angry look means.”

“It means we’re sorted,” she told him tersely and folded her arms over her chest, “And you can stop talking about it.”

“Dope,” Reggie grinned boyishly and palmed her lower back as he slid past, “Alright, catch ya later. We’re gonna go _big_ tonight.”

“Sure, we are,” Veronica said drolly as the jock winked at her before disappearing into the same locker room that Archie did minutes ago.

She made her way down the hall and almost balked at the sight of a scowling Cheryl and…Toni? Her trademark pink bleached hair hung low on her back and coiled in a manner that wasn’t dissimilar to the Serpent stitching on her jacket. Cheryl was blocking her path with her slightly taller height and her splotchy neck was sticking out like an enraged giraffe as she made hissing noises but Toni didn’t cower back like most the Riverdale High's student body would when dealing with her unpredictable temperament. 

“You can shut it, Cheryl. I’m not here to see you.”

Veronica shuddered as her ears picked up the uncharacteristically gentle voice that Cheryl was putting on for the other girl. “TT, let’s talk about this – “

“We have _nothing_ left to talk about,” the emphasis was put on ‘nothing’ as Toni slapped away the hand that was reaching out to her, “I don’t have time to deal with your shit right now – “

“That makes you, me, and everyone else at this school.”

The two girls whipped around at the sound of her condescending drawls. Cheryl’s brown eyes had grown wide as a couple of saucers but Toni looked, dare she say, relieved to see her.

“Veronica,” Toni did the announcing so she didn’t have to and began to march towards her like a woman on a mission, “Good. I was looking for you”

“Wait,” Cheryl was all tongue-tied, her panicked gaze darting between the two of them, “What’s the meaning of this?”

“I need you to fuck off right now, Cheryl,” the pink-haired girl said flippantly as she snatched up Veronica’s wrist and began to drag her in the opposite the direction, “Go hang out with the preppies for the night, maybe you can get some perspective that way.”

Toni was surprisingly strong for someone of such petite size because before she knew it, she was half-way down the hall and right back where Reggie left her. Veronica looked to Cheryl helplessly, her eyes flashing at her as if to demand that she “do something” but the bombshell was too busy being floored to take any course of action other than collecting her jaw off the floor. She tried her best to maintain her footing but she was staggering all over the place like a newborn deer with the way Toni was relentlessly yanking at her arm.

“What the hell is going on?” she raised her voice into a pitchy scream as she tried to wrench her hand away but it only made the other girl tighten her hold, “Toni, what are you doing?!”

“Stop moving,” Toni said in a dull tone like this was all perfectly normal and everything was in order, “You’re going to dislocate your shoulder if you don’t quit thrashing around.”

She sounded so much like Jughead then that it unwittingly made her do as she was told.

Veronica was about to ask, yet again, where the hell they were going when Toni kneed open the gymnasium’s door and hauled her outside into the cold. She looked around the harrowing emptiness and quickly realised that they were standing on the outskirt of the schoolyard. _Of all the places to be_ , she fumed, _a fucking groundkeeper isn’t going to save her from a gang member_. Her body had warmed considerably since the game finished and the icy chill of the night felt like lashings against her bare legs. Her knees buckled, her ankles twisted and her arms curled around her torso in a pathetic attempt to hold herself together. 

“What. The. Actual. Fuck?” Veronica screeched through her clattering teeth.

“Jughead’s in jail.”

* * *

Veronica hadn’t known what to say so she just silently followed the other girl to the truck and climbed into the ratty passenger seat. She’d been here so many times before but he was usually the one doing the driving.

Toni spent the first ten minutes of the drive giving a detailed explanation of how Jughead wounded up in jail but Veronica was still struggling to wrap her head around the fact. At first, she was elated to know that his arrest had nothing to do with the blood-stained crowbar she’d left at Blackjack. Then she was silently hyperventilating at the fact that his trailer had been raided for evidence linked to the Jason Blossom’s investigation. Apparently, the police had barged in without a warrant, and Jughead, being the smart mouth than he was, told them to “ _get one or get bent_.” They took that with a full offence and that was how he ended up, face first in the mud and taken away in cuffs. Toni made it clear that she took no pleasure in coming to Veronica for help but she figured she was the only one with the kind of money to make bail. She was sadly mistaken; Veronica didn’t have that kind of cash lying around and was going to have to break into the safe at La Bonne Nuit to get that three-thousand dollars. But that was fine, she would do it if it meant she could spare him a criminal record. The trouble should have ended there but it didn’t. Apparently, Jughead was less than six months away from the legal age and they were looking to try him as an adult unless one of his parents was willing to sign a form that declares Forsythe Pendleton Jones, the third, a minor under their guardianship. Gladys Jones was never a viable option; she was at least four hundred miles away and not picking up her phone. So that left FP.

They didn’t speak after that. Not until Toni announced that they were running low and would need to stop for gas if they wanted to make to Shankshaw and back.

Earlier when Veronica envisioned how this night was going to go, she saw it heading one of the two directions – drinking out of a keg and stumbling around Marty Mantle’s front lawn or drinking out of a keg and stumbling around Marty Mantle’s front lawn while Jughead watched on. Never did she imagine she’d be pumping gas and eating beef jerky in the back of a pickup truck.

Veronica was jerked out of her trance by the two sharp knocks against the rear window.

“What’s the hold-up?”

“Gimme a sec,” Veronica yelled back and threw on Jughead’s sweatshirt. The smell of it made her feel less nauseated than she’d been since they started to drive.

She nearly slid off the seat trying to wriggle into a fresh pair of black leggings she’d packed just in case. Toni was muttering impatiently the other side of the glass but she was nice enough to stay standing with her back to it like she’d been asked. There was a creepy-looking old man sitting out on the curb; Veronica wasn’t keen on the idea of giving him a free show by stripping out of her dirty uniform.

She called out “ _done_ ” and rolled down the window just in time to catch Toni grumble “finally” in return. The other girl didn’t spare her a glance as she shoved a lukewarm paper cup into her hand and went back to sipping her own coffee.

And because her preferred choice of coping mechanism was bitchiness, Veronica opened her poisonous mouth and said: “Trouble in paradise with you and Cheryl?”

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” Toni scoffed, her eyes trained on the fuel dispenser, “First, you come over to my turf and threatened me for information on the most trivial thing. Then you bait Pea into taking you to Blackjack, knowing full well that it was going to become a thing with Jughead.”

Veronica had nothing smart to say to any of that so she joined her in watching the tank fill up. That only lasted for a few minutes until Toni reached around into her jeans pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. She shoved that into her hand that was unoccupied.

Veronica narrowed her eyes at all the empty, dotted lines. She pulled her knees under her, propping herself up higher on the seat so she could stick her neck out the window and ask, “Why are you giving me the form?”

“Because you’re going to get him to sign it.”

“Why can’t you do it?”

Toni’s fingers tightened around the handle. “We have bad blood.”

At that, Veronica arched an imperious brow.

The other girl must have sensed that she wouldn’t drop the subject because she sighed and yielded with a cursory explanation. “A couple of years ago, I voted against FP as the Serpent king. I’m not in any position to be asking him favours.”

“Great,” she mumbled wryly, “Does everything have to be about gang rituals and bitter rivals with you people?”

Veronica was shrinking back into the car when Toni decided to ram the nozzle back into the pump with what could only be described as vengeful aggression.

She jumped at the impromptu burst of noise, smacking her head on the roof in the process. “Do you mind?!”

“I don’t know what he sees in you.”

The forefront of her brain was throbbing painfully in more ways than one and it was affecting her better judgement because she was seriously contemplated impelling Toni’s face into the service station but she thought, what was the point? The Serpent girl was clearly aiming to provoke with that remark rather than injure. Nevertheless, she was insulted.

“I don’t either but I can tell you what I see in him,” Veronica said evenly as her steely gaze collided with Toni’s unforgiving one, “I see someone who gets up in the morning even when he thinks the day’s going to kill him. I see someone who won’t cave to evil no matter how many times it calls on him. I see someone who’s fighting every day to be good despite all the bad he knows he can’t outrun. I see him and I _know_ he’s a better person than I’ll ever be,” she paused for a shaky intake of breath because she words had taken with them any fortitude that she may have possessed, “And because of all those reasons, he’s someone worth putting our differences aside for.”

She sunk her knees further into the scratchy leather seat and wished one of the rips would open up and swallow her whole. “So,” her throat was scratchy when she spoke again, “Does that settle it or do you want to keep going with the back and forth until one of us claw the other’s eye out?”

Silence was all that followed until the door to the driver seat swung open and Toni crawled into it.

“I don’t claw,” she said crisply as she revved the engine, “I punch.”

“Good to know."

And just like that, they were back on the road again.

* * *

Shankshaw was everything you’d expect a prison to be – cold, bleak and unnerving.

The halls were dark but she could tell the floor beneath her feet were squeaky clean, could hear it in the way the rubber of her volley shoes squeaked against the cobblestone as she shuffled a few steps behind the guard. Veronica pulled at the sleeves of Jughead’s shirt self-consciously. She hadn’t been expecting to brave the visit alone but according to the sign-in sheet, the warden was told to expect a visitor, not _visitors_ and so it was either Toni or her. It had to be her though, they knew that.

They made a few more turns until the guard pointed at the only room that didn’t have a chain on the door and escorted her in there. The receptionist had informed her and Toni that they usually hold private contact in the visiting area but since it was after hours, she would have to make do with the visitation booth. She didn’t say it but she much preferred that arrangement. This would be her first time meeting FP and she’d rather a piece of glass between them than nothing at all. The guard explained the phone to her like it was Elon Musk’s latest creation, then showed her the emergency button that she was hoping that she wouldn’t have the need for. The man must have noticed how fidgety she was acting because he did his best to be comforting and even pulled the chair out for her as he reassured her that he’d be standing right outside if she needed anything.

Once she was left alone, Veronica squinted at her reflection that was bouncing off the glass and set about fixing her hair, now stiff with a gross combination of spray and sweat. She gathered her wiry strands into a neat top knot, securing it in place with a baby blue scrunchy Betty had loaned her before the game. It wasn’t a glamorous look by any means but it was presentable.

 _So much for a first good impression,_ Veronica knew it was a frivolous thought. She shouldn’t care about impressing a convicted felon who doubled as a gang leader. She did though, this was Jughead’s father and she didn’t want to be completely written off by him. She clenched her eyes out to block out the inordinate amount of LED light in the room and when she opened them again, she nearly choked on her sigh. The door on the other side of the glass had flown open. She did her best to school her expression into an unreadable one but all the trepidation that had been building inside of her since they’ve walked through the prison gates was attacking every fibre of her being. Still, she forced herself to stare ahead at the bumpy, beige brick wall.

The first thing that Veronica saw of him was his hands, grimy with soil amongst other things, and how they were cuffed together in a way that couldn’t be very comfortable. She couldn’t hear the sound of bones cracking but she saw his knuckles crunch against the steel bench when the guard shoved him down into the chair and undid his restraints. Veronica wasn’t ready to look at him yet so she focused on how stark his sinewy arm looked as it slid out of the blazing orange sleeve and reached for the phone.

Veronica took hers off the hook and brought it to her ear. She hoped he didn’t catch the sharp intake of breath that escaped her when her eyes landed on him.

“My, my, you look just like your ma,” FP drawled tauntingly as his eyes roamed over her face with a melancholic gleam in his charcoal eyes, “It’s a goddamn shame that your piece of shit father sucked the living soul out of her.”

She’d seen him in pictures before – seen what he looked like when he was her age and seen what adulthood had done to him. It was a shame that FP had lost the spindly handsomeness that she often tried to ignore in his son. His jet black hair was more salt than pepper now, his Roman nose that reminded her so much of Jughead was sharper, more jagged, and his eyes weren’t the colour of the riptide, instead, it was what she’d imagine one would see with their lids shut and gasping for their last breath.

“Mister Jones, I’m not sure how much warden Norton told you but – “

“You can drop the ‘Mister’ crap,” he cut her off dismissively, “I know I ain’t worth the etiquette. And the warden told me nothing,” he interlocked his fingers over his kneecap and regarded her with a stony look, “They said to me, “the Lodge girl had business with you” so I made myself free for the occasion. I thought, “What the hell. It’s not every day you get a visit from the upper crust, old man, so better make it count.”

The only way to describe FP was hollow. Every part of him was hollow – his words, his face, his eyes. He was an empty shell of a man. She’d blame it on the prison time but she knew the kind of father he was – the type that hit and throw and ruin, and ruin, and _ruin_ until his children no longer recognise him. His son still had the scars to show for it.

Veronica shifted anxiously in her seat. “I don’t want to take up too much of your time so I’ll just get straight to it. Jughead,” her breath hitched at his name, “Your son was arrested earlier this evening. Not for anything that you should be terribly concerned about,” she added quickly, her fist clenching painfully in her lap, “He just resisted arrest – he didn’t assault anyone or anything like that, but the Riverdale police feels that there’s a need for legal actions. They’re asking that you – uh – “

She switched hands for the phone and stuck two fingers into her back pocket. Her nails raked against the paper as she hastily flattened it against the glass. “If you could sign this to confirm that you’re his guardian.”

FP stared at her vacantly. Veronica didn’t even think he had bothered to read the fine prints on the form.

“Why should I?"

Veronica gawked at him like he’d lost his fucking mind. Maybe he had.

“I don’t think you’re understanding me,” she sputtered, “They’re going to try him as an adult if one of his parents can’t confirm that he’s under their care. It’s going to ruin his life – we’re talking a criminal record, possibly even prison time!”

“Oh, I’m understanding you,” FP smarmed as he leaned back in his chair, “It’s you that’s not understanding me, _little girl_ ,” he barked out a spiteful laugh that made her skin crawl, “I gotta tell you, I underestimated that boy – never did I think he had it in him to hustle his way into high places and with a catch like you too. You going through a bad boy phase, sweetheart? You should ask your ma about that, she’d know a thing or two about it.”

The stale air that hung in the room made her gag but so did his foul words.

His chortle died down and he began to bounce his legs, almost gleeful. “I’d say “come along to the next visit” but with them charges you were just talking about, I got a feeling I’d be seeing him in here,” he grinned at his own joke as he knocked at the glass, “And not on the side of the box with you.”

Never in her life had she felt such a violent hatred towards another human being.

“He’s your son,” Veronica bit out because that should have been enough.

“That boy’s more his mother’s son than he’s ever been mine. Disloyal, the both of them,” FP snarled as he rubbed a hand over his overgrown beard, “I tell you what, you get me a lawyer that’s not a complete moron and I’ll sign the damn thing.”

“The Blossom’s lawyers aren’t good enough for you?” she sneered.

“The Blossoms?” FP jolted as if the name had sliced through him, “You think that boy’s family would help me? Are you out of your goddamn mind?!”

 _No, you’re the one that’s out of your fucking mind,_ Veronica wanted to snap back but that was beside the point. That made it his third count of bald-faced lies. The trifecta was now the beanie, Tall boy, and the Blossoms. The first and second count were minor infractions compared to the alibis that he was providing the Blossoms. He _hated_ Jason, didn’t he? Hated him for the way he walked all over him like common filth, hated him even more for ratting his father out to the police. Yes, Jughead hated Jason like she hated her Nick – wishing and praying that he’d drop dead. There was no bribe because he didn’t need to be, not if he was in on the murder. He was right, it was an airtight alibi: he couldn’t take the Blossoms down because he’d be involuntarily going with them. That was why he kept quiet about Tall boy; he wasn’t worried about incriminating her, he was worried about giving himself away. No, that couldn’t be it. Jughead wouldn’t do that – she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to remember the things she said to Toni. She couldn’t, instead, she remembered the things _he_ said to her – “ _you’re the most important person in my life.”_ Little by little, Veronica felt the plastic phone slide out of her slacked fist but she couldn’t regain the strength to grip it. Everything was spinning on its axis; her head was heavy and her feet numb. She felt like she was hanging by a thread.

“Alright, alright!” she shouted over her screaming emotions, “Fine but you have to sign it, right now.”

Veronica hung up but it was too late, FP’s gloating laughter was already rebounding from ear to ear as she yelled out for the guard.

* * *

Toni hadn’t asked her how it went with FP. Which told Veronica that she knew she was sending her to the slaughter. She didn’t want an apology – didn’t need one, she could see why Toni didn’t want to stare into the face of pure evil. They’d simply exchanged a look as they walked out of Shankshaw; Toni’s was consoled and Veronica’s was powerless. Unlike his record, they could never scrub away the sacrilegious markings of his father. “I’d rather _die_ than turn out like my old man,” Jughead once told her after a couple of rum shots. He would have to if he wanted to drain his body of FP’s polluted blood.

“How do you spell that?"

Veronica blinked down at the cop. He had coppery hair and had big blue orbs that reminded her of a newly born baby. He had appraised her with a similarly concerned look when Toni helped her stack bundles of hundred dollar bills on top of desk earlier. 

“Miss?”

“Um, yes, sorry,” she wiped a hand over her bleary eyes, “F-O-R-S-Y-T-H-E. His middle name is P-E-N –“

“Found it,” he interrupted her but softened it by glancing up from the computer screen and shooting her a polite smile.

Veronica’s gaze trailed after him anxiously as he walked over to the taller but scrawnier cop that stood guarding the halls and whispered a few words to him. The brunette man nodded and started to walk off, his keys jangling against his holster as he ambled through the creaky iron gates.

“Your friend will be out in a minute,” the copper-haired cop told her as he rounded his desk, “Go sit down.”

Like a good little girl, Veronica did as she was told and wandered over to the row of blue plastic chairs.

Toni gaped at her imploringly but she was too exhausted to explain as she put some space between them and sat two seats away. Her head was fighting all sorts of conflicting thoughts and some silence would do her some good right now. There was nothing to do but wait anyway. She had called Kevin on their way back to the station, hoping that his dad would pull some strings for a quick and easy release. Sheriff Keller must have taken pity on her and rushed the paper works through because there were three other people bumming around in this very room, and they were definitely here before Toni and she arrived. Her eyes flitted to the clock and watched the seconds trickled by like minuscule eternities. Toni wasn’t keeping watch but Veronica noticed that she was tapping her heels to count the time. She was close to snapping at her to ‘cut it out’ but then she heard the tired groan of the gates opening.

The guard made some dry remark about Jughead but none of them paid it any attention. Toni hopped onto her feet and gasped, Veronica did the same but stayed rooted in her chair. All her anger and reservation washed away at the sight of him. He looked like he’d foregone sleep for months and he looked raddled in a way that she didn’t remember him being even after skipping three consecutive meals. His hair was mussed and limp as the dark locks hovered over his eyes, the blue in them was dull and lifeless. She tried to remind herself that he had lied – not once, not twice but three times now but that same thought now mocked her for her own hypocrisy. She was up to her neck in lies, she was practically swimming in them so who was she to expect complete transparency from anyone? She wasn’t mad at him, Veronica realised, she’d been mad at herself for allowing herself to care enough for the torrid emotion of betrayal to rise to the surface.

Jughead’s eyes widened as they met hers, almost as if she was a beautiful mirage that he couldn’t believe he was seeing. It was only occurring to Veronica now that he was an orphan for the lack of better words – his father was the furthest thing from a functioning parent and his mother was nowhere to be found. She wasn’t doing any better in the family department, perhaps that was why his confoundment wasn’t a revelation to her. If anything, she understood what it was like to expect the worst in the people you love the most – to long for more and be afraid to ask for it. He didn’t know it yet but that was something he need not worry about with her. If anything, she would give him everything, he just had to say the words. She felt it too, you see, felt it deep inside the marrow of her bones that he was the most important thing to have ever happened to her too.

Veronica felt as if she was to burst into tears at any moment so she bit down on her quivering lips and watched him gather his belongings. They were the typical things he usually carried around with him: his keys, some loose change, his leather jacket. Jughead had one finger hooked into the lapel when Toni tackled him into a hug and muttered some things that her ears refused to register. He wasn’t looking at Toni though, he kept glancing her way as if to make sure that she was really there.

Toni walked over and said a curt ‘thank you’ to her before making her way out. Veronica wasn’t sure but she thought the pink-haired girl might have said something about “letting Pea and Fangs know” as she brushed past her. Wordlessly, Jughead came up beside her and draped his jacket over her shoulder. That simple gesture alone made her want to weep; he’d spent the night in jail but she was the one that needed his comfort. _Silly, foolish, idiotic girl_ , she listed off in her head and felt herself being led out the station then down the steps. The chili breeze of the night swatted her in the face but she felt none of the frigidness of the night time wind.

Jughead spun her around by the elbow and made them face one another. He looked pasty and ill and she was so glad to see him that she thought she might pass out at any moment now.

“You bailed me out,” he said matter-of-factly but it was fragile like he wasn’t entirely confident that she did just that.

She sniffed back something and croaked out, “I did.”

His gaze dropped below her face. “You’re wearing my sweatshirt.”

Veronica strained her neck just to nod. “I am”

He was but a minute ago, confined between four walls and looking at serving prison time. Surely there was something else that he wanted to say outside of these astute observations he was making. She wanted to ask if he was okay but that sounded stupid even in her head – of course, he wasn’t. Nothing was okay. Although it felt like it could be if they were to stay standing out here in the open, drinking each other in with their eyes and speaking nothing of the longing that burned inside them. 

Veronica was racking her brain for the right words to tell him that she wasn’t made for forever but he took them right out of her mouth. Jughead didn’t make a single noise but drew one from her when his lips smashed into hers. They were cracked and rough and everything she shouldn’t want but she did, she wanted it more than she ever wanted anything in her young life. It was fleeting or at least it was supposed to be until she chased after the high, her fingers grasping at anything to pull him closer. The press of his lips was firmer this time, less cautious now as his teeth nicked at her bottom lip. It was the gentlest of touch but her lips parted anyway, shivering as his tongue swept over the bruised flesh soothingly. He was being greedy with her, she could feel it in the way his nails grazed under her jaw and how he tipped up her chin so he could taste more of her. Jughead was kissing her like he had an agenda and that agenda was to move his lips over hers again and again and _again_ until her only source of oxygen was what he was feeding her. It was working too because all she could think about was how lovely it would be to live off his kisses.

She wasn’t even standing by her own volition when they finally pulled apart. Her feet were barely touching the concrete and she bet that she would have unravelled right then if it wasn’t for his arm that had encircled her waist. The indigo in his eyes was no longer muddy like they were when he had walked out of his cell, a free man. No, the blue was now iridescent like the morning sky as he stared back at her and she wondered if this was the closest she’d ever get to heaven. Jughead was panting to catch his breath, his tongue flicked out to sample whatever remnant of her that was still on his lips and she had half the mind to start with him all over again.

They didn’t get the chance to though because across the road, Smithers had pulled up with the Lincoln.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, I know this took longer than expected but I wasn't exactly satisfied with the latter half of this chapter so I had to do some rewriting to get it right. Anyway, I still can't believe we've finally gotten to this point in the story. It's been a long and wild ride but hopefully, this chapter and this moment have lived up to your expectations x
> 
> THANK YOU SO, SO MUCH FOR YOUR SUPPORT! I can't thank you all enough because all the kudos and comments have been a constant encouragement to stay productive and put out the best work that I possibly could. I appreciate every single one of you and hopefully, the next chapter gets here sooner than this one did lol


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know that it's been such a long wait for this chapter but I swear there's a good reason! We're about just past the midpoint of this story and I had to make sure I map out all the plot points correctly so that the mystery unravels at a good pace and nothing seems overly rushed. It's also been a bitch to write this chapter because well they kissed in the last chapter! The story has been working up to that moment, so now I have to refocus on the next milestone! I'm also really determined to spend the next few chapters exploring the development/transition from friendship to more. If you sense a significant decrease in the mystery aspects of the story, then that's why. The good news is that I've already started writing the next chapter so there shouldn't be much of a delay until the next update! 
> 
> As always, I am ETERNALLY grateful for all the love and support. Thank you so much for all the comments and kudos you leave - they keep me going x

That next morning had gone agonizingly slow. Veronica woke up to the wafting smell of coffee and found a steaming cup of it sitting on her nightstand. Her entire being felt sore like she’d been run over by an eight-wheeler truck and miraculously survived the accident. The spot beside her on the bed was empty but there was an unmistakable Jughead-sized dent in the mattress that told her that he did indeed, sleep there. Veronica faintly recalled him making a beeline for the couch when they got back to her apartment but she had tiredly and wordlessly motioned him into the bedroom. She must have fallen asleep soon after because her mind couldn’t conjure up any other memory from last night. Veronica took her time confirming with her vanity that she did look as awful as she felt before wobbling out of her room. Jughead was sitting on the ottoman, sipping on caffeine and flipping through a fraying novel as if he’d been there for hours now. She could tell by his damp hair that he, in fact, hadn’t and most likely was just in the shower.

“Morning”

Jughead swivelled around at the raspy sound of her greeting. He didn’t look sad or tired or anything – it was as if a blank mask had foiled over his face.

“I didn’t want to wake you so I slipped out for a quick shower. Hope that’s okay with you.”

“Of course.”

Veronica was trying not to think about the kiss and she was fairly successful at evading the thought, until now. All she could think about when she looked at him was the feeling of his lips, the taste of his tongue, the warmth of his palm against her throbbing pulse. She was torn; she didn’t know if she wanted to clear the air or pretend the moment never happened altogether. Either way, the timing seemed inappropriate.

She tried not to shudder when he abruptly stood up and announced, “I better head off. There’s probably a lot of cleaning up to be done after the shit show that was last night.”

Veronica nodded woodenly as she watched him amble to the door. Then before she could think twice about it, she blurted: “Would you like some help?”

Jughead paused and half turned to look at her. He looked contemplative but then his lips quirked into a wry smirk. It made her breathe easier

“You sure, princess?” he teased, “I’ve seen you try to work a mop before and it wasn’t pretty.”

“Hush,” she ordered gently and began to withdraw into her room, “Give me ten minutes.”

* * *

Jughead was right; there would be some serious cleaning to do. She took one look at the state of the Jones’ trailer and knew this was a job that should be left to the professionals. Still, he was determined to do it all himself and so she ruined her manicure picking glass shards off the floor.

Admittedly, Jughead’s home was never the tidiest of places but she’d never seen it in such a state of chaos either. It reminded her of her father’s office after the FBI was through with their hunt for falsified data but instead of sky-high piles of folios and binders, there were wonky stacks of VHS tapes, old books, and scratched vinyl records. The carpet that was now covered in his belongings was especially scruffy from all the dirty shoes that probably trampled over it from the night before. The hook on the screen door wasn’t done up, the cabinets were left ajar, drawers had been pulled apart and carelessly left there to be someone else’s problem. You couldn’t take more than a step without standing on something. Veronica had half the mind to call up the sheriff’s office and demand that they send someone over to clean up their mess but she knew Jughead was lucky to even get his trailer back.

Veronica sighed and ripped a fluorescent yellow tag off a can of tomato soup. This would make it the sixth one she’d peel off in this last hour alone; they were stuck onto any visible surface and left an icky residue that was a bitch to scrub off. She was struggling to reach the top shelf in her heel-less state when she took a stumble over a banged-up cardboard box. It was wedged up against the cupboard under the kitchen sink and had another yellow tape slapped onto its front. She rolled her eyes as she leaned down to pick it up and tossed it onto the benchtop. Veronica contemplated asking Jughead’s permission before having a look inside but what he didn’t know couldn’t hurt, right? She listened to the heavy footsteps that were emerging from the other side of the paper-thin wall and lifted off the lid, setting it aside as she skimmed over all the cut-outs and clippings. She instantly recognised them to be the remnants of the string board he’d set up in FP’s old room. He must have taken it down when the police came knocking, which in hindsight was probably the smartest thing he did that night. A make-shift murder board didn’t exactly scream innocence. The Riverdale authorities couldn’t have been too thorough with their raid if this had slipped past their radar. Veronica suspected that they didn’t even look inside the box because if they had, this was definitely worth bagging and tagging.

Veronica knew that all the information she’d gather wasn’t truly indicative of his guilt but she couldn’t help wonder if the board was his sick way of keeping track of the murders and violence that he’d help to inflict on the town. _Jokes on me for delivering that long-winded speech about his goodness_ , she thought to herself bitterly and put the lid back in its place. She reminded herself that it was not the right time to play therapist to her troubled thoughts and released a heavy breather before veering into his bedroom.

It was much more organised than it was twenty minutes ago. The lamp was standing upright on the nightstand, the mattress had been flipped over and the crumpled sheets were off the floor and on the bed again. A stack of books still laid on the floor, the yellowing pages crushed under the weight of a plastic alarm clock that was blinking like it was on life support.

Jughead shoved a mangy drawer back in its place and grunted something inaudible under his breath.

Veronica fidgeted with the hem of her cotton white tee. “Why do I feel like this is the best it’s going to get?”

“Probably because it’s true,” he muttered gruffly, then exhaled a long-drawn sigh as he raked his fingers through his frizzed curls, “The sheets need changing.”

She watched, slightly befuddled as he walked out the door.

Veronica blinked. “Where are you going?”

“To get new sheets”

It took her a second to register the implications of that. She bit back a groan and followed him into the hallway.

“Seriously?” Veronica called out to him, exasperated at his blasé attitude, “Jug, you can’t possibly be thinking of spending the night in this dump.”

Veronica knew as soon as the words left her mouth that it was a horrible thing to say. That made him pause. He angled his body around like his limbs were made of dried cement. He was moving painstakingly slow and it made the regret that was churning inside her even worse.

Jughead stared at her, the fury unfurling in his eyes. He threw his arm out like he wanted to drive his fist through the drywall. “Well, you know what Veronica, this dump is the only home I have.”

She secretly wished he would yell, or throw, or kick at something. His calmness unnerved her more than the possibility of rage. His gaze slid down to his foot; he was standing over an old picture of him and his family. The toe box of his shoe was covering half of FP’s shark-like smile and the sole was driving his little sister’s face into the carpeting. He staggered back as if they were real beings instead of a memory he’d committed to a washed-out photograph.

“That’s not true,” she cajoled gently as she strode over to him and snatched up his hand that was hanging limply by his side.

“Look at me,” Veronica urged and forced him to do just that, two fingers pinching at his chin. His head lolled against the pressure and she wondered if he was fully there or he was still lost in the darkest crevice of his brain, “You can come stay with me for a bit until things are a bit more settled around here.”

His orbs darkened even more if that was possible and scoffed. “You know it’s never going to settle, Veronica. I’m waiting for the cops to barge through the door at any minute now and go round two with this place.”

Veronica reached for his hand and stroked a thumb over his knuckle placatingly. _He was just a child then,_ she thought as she peered down at his smiling face, _maybe he was still a boy_. His hair was lighter then and his face was fuller. She only ever witnessed him with such splendour whenever he saw her coming his way.

“Okay,” she gave a yielding nod, “Then I’ll stay”

Jughead pulled away with some reluctance and pushed away, his feet scuttling against the floor as he put some distance between them. She could tell by the way he was averting her gaze that he was ashamed – of this trailer, of the unspoken burden he was becoming to her, of inexplicably asking her to stay by his side.

“This is not you asking me. This is me offering, okay?” Veronica reassured him with the soft curve of her smile, “I want to stay with you.”

He shook his head indignantly. “No, I can’t ask you to do that.”

That sparked a storm of umbrage between her ribcage. She was so sick of this – the string of resistance that they were trying not to tear apart. It was bound to snap so what about it if she went first? She didn’t want to fight and she didn’t him to fight her either, so she did the only thing that would make him succumb to her. With one last hard look, Veronica barrelled towards him and wrapped both arms around his body. She cursed at the absence of her four-inch heels and pushed up on her tip-toe until she could hook her chin onto his sagging shoulder. Jughead felt cold but she felt him melt into her when her cheek pressed against the sharp curve of his cheekbone.

“Let me do this for you,” she mouthed quietly, her lips trembling against his flesh, “Let me be here for you.”

He didn’t say ‘no’ and that was good enough for her.

* * *

“Thank you for bringing my things, Smithers. Again, I’m so sorry for making you drive all the way over here on what is supposed your day-off.”

Veronica had given the poor man a call and politely request that he brought her overnight bag to the Jones trailer. She knew that her perpetual state of paranoia would come in handy eventually, having a bag packed and ready to go at all times definitely worked in her favour. She knew she could have duct back to the Pembrooke for a couple of hours to get together some necessities but she didn’t feel too comfortable leaving Jughead alone in his state of unrest and a run-in with Hermosa would be nothing but trouble right now. She decided it was best to hang back on the Southside for the time being.

“It’s no trouble, Miss Veronica,” the man gave her a fatherly smile and it was more than she’d ever remembered getting from Hiram, “Feel free to call me if you need anything else this weekend.”

Veronica curled the crook of her elbow over the cracked leather strap of her monogram Louis Vuitton. “That’s very kind of you to offer, Smithers, but I think I’ll manage just fine from here on.”

Smithers nodded tentatively as he glanced around the shadowy emptiness of Southside. He didn’t feel safe here and if Veronica was being honest with herself, she didn’t either. She’d made a lot of enemies on this side of town, even though most of them weren’t aware of the fact.

She was about ready to dismiss him when he reached into his coat’s pocket and held out a phone to her. She discerned him vaguely but took it anyway.

“Miss Hermosa has asked to speak to you,” Smithers informed, almost regretfully.

She covered the speaker with her hand and asked, “Is sister dearest still enraged with me?”

Smithers looked away apprehensively and cast a glance at the trailer that was threatening to fold in half at any moment now. She couldn’t see Jughead through the windows, that was a good sign. Veronica returned her attention to the man in front of her, arching her brow in query. His silence told everything she needed to know. Fuck.

Holding the phone up to her ear, Veronica cleared her throat clumsily before she uttered a curt ‘ _evening_.’

“You little coward,” Hermosa sneered from the other side of the line, then followed it with a coarse laugh, “I catch you stealing from my safe and now you’re too ashamed to show your face at the Pembrooke. Well, well, aren’t you a little scaredy-cat?”

“I’m not scared to face the music,” she said drolly and glanced at Smithers who was still avoiding eye contact, “I assume you are fully aware of the situation at hand and if you do, then you should know that it’s not one that can go away overnight. There are a few pesky details I have to take care of before I can spare the time for your lecture. If it’s the money, you’re worried about then – “

“My main concern isn’t the money,” Hermosa interrupted primly, “While I fully expect you to return every cent that you took from me, I’m more disturbed by your affiliation to FP Jones’ son.”

Her brows furrowed. “And why might that be?”

“You can fall headfirst into a ditch for all I care but unfortunately, it’s not about what I want,” Hermosa said negligently, “I have agreed to be responsible for you while you are living in Riverdale, under my roof. With that being said, the Jones is better known as the shadiest family in town so I’d prefer it if you would keep your distance going forward.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” she bit back acidly, “What with Luna rum and all.”

It was just as she expected. Hermosa had nothing to say to that.

“My relationship is with Jughead and Jughead only,” Veronica was firm on the fact, “My geniality doesn’t extend to the rest of his family.”

There was a mocking pause. Then, “Relationship?”

“Friendship,” she corrected with quickness, “Whatever you want to call it.”

“I won’t pretend that I support your decision, which I think is fair considering that it’s a silly one,” Hermosa said condescendingly, “But since I have no actual power over you…take this as a friendly warning from someone who’s lived in Riverdale all their life.”

Veronica chewed on her bottom lip. “Do you know something that I should know about?”

“About what?”

“The people of Riverdale,” she thought about it a bit more. Then, “The people who work for you on the Southside.”

“Not exactly,” she replied crisply, “But just know that I wouldn’t trust a single soul in this town.”

Then there was a static ‘click’ and the line went dead.

* * *

“Got everything?”

“Yep,” Veronica popped her ‘p’ with some artificial zest as she dumped her bag by his feet, “I’m set for the rest of this weekend.”

He was sitting on the bench and smoking in the kitchen with the windows shut. Something he often told off for doing. The ashtray had two other cigarettes crushed into it and the smoke hadn’t completely dissipated from one of them. He wasn’t the type to chain smoke, that was her thing as well.

“So…” Veronica made a point of dragging her word out as she stepped into the gap between his legs and snaked her arms around his torso, “What do you want to do for the rest of the day?”

Jughead stared down at her but his eyes were empty. She hated that. She hated that the void inside him made her feel like a needy little girl.

He shrugged. “There’s nothing else to do but clean up.”

“It’s a Saturday, Jug,” she pouted, shaking him gently, “Let’s do something fun. We can do a bit more cleaning but surely, you’re not planning on making me do that all day and night.”

He chuckled gruffly at her petulance and reached her shoulder to snuff out his cigarette. The pad of his thumb was rough and scratchy as he gently stroked the side of her jaw but it was oddly soothing to her. 

“Technically you’re my house guest. So I guess you should pick what we do.”

Veronica licked her lips, wagging her brows at him playfully while she fumbled with the drawer underneath him. Jughead watched her, his frown deepening as he watched her flitted something out of the cutlery tray and hid it behind her back. And because he was set on being a bummer for the rest of the day, he held out his hand like he was dealing with a naughty child. She stared back at him in chagrin but surrendered over her find anyway.

“Pot,” he said flatly, “You want to do pot?”

She crossed her arms over her chest, smirking.

Jughead gave her a disapproving look as he fingered the baggy. “Where did you even get this?”

“Under the sink, behind all that Tupperware you have but never used if I had to guess by the amount of dust they were covered in.”

The corner of his lips twitched. “I think you might have stumbled across my dad’s hiding spot.”

Veronica mouthed a bland ‘oh’ but no sound came out. Then awkwardly, “Right…let’s forget that I ever found it then.”

He made a fist around the little zip lock bag and pulled away before she could pluck it out of his hand. She suddenly felt very regretful that she brought it up in the first place. She had yet to tell him the bargain she’d struck with FP and this situation only served as a daunting reminder that she couldn’t keep this particular secret for long.

“Why?”

She didn’t know where he was going with this and she didn’t like that, not at all.

“It’s like you said, we can’t spend the whole time cleaning,” he rolled the bag around in his palm like it was a point of fascination, “Neither of us has anywhere to be for the rest of the weekend, so why not?”

Veronica gulped down the uncomfortable lump that was forming at the back of her throat. “Look, Jug, I just thought it would be a fun idea but – “

“It would be fun,” he agreed but he sounded far from ‘fun’ right now.

“I don’t think it’s wise to light up when you’re not in the best of headspace.”

“I’m fine,” Jughead insisted and hopped off the bench, brushing past her as he strode out the kitchen and into the compact lounging space, “There should be rolling paper lying around somewhere. I remember dad used to shove them under the couch. He used to tell us they were origami papers like that was convincing – to JB, maybe but I was too old – too fucking tired of the bullshit. I pretended to believe him for a while. It was easier to keep the peace that way.”

She winced as he flipped the seats over and tossed them to the floor haphazardly. She’d only finished putting the sofa back together less than an hour ago.

“What is this really about?” Veronica snapped. She wished she could bottle it up like she did everything else but that was clearly not an option when it came to him, “I know your relationship with your father is complicated and volatile, and I understand that he didn’t do right by you. God knows I know a few things about parents not doing right by their children,” she took a much-needed pause because she didn’t want to ramble on about the immaterial things, “But why this sudden tirade of anger?”

He ripped a cushion off the loveseat and sent it flying towards the television set. It knocked over a stack of VHS but he didn’t seem to care.

“When have I _not_ been angry with him?”

“Not like this!”

Her fingers were itching for that unopened bottle of rum that was sitting pretty on the kitchen top and she had to dig them into her jeans so she wouldn’t reach for it. That would be too close to home. Hitting the bottle during a shouting match reminded her too much of her own parents and their dumpster fire of a marriage. She didn’t want to go there, especially not with him.

“It’s never been like this,” she repeated but much gentler this time and took a few steps towards him. She was careful not to touch him as she came to stand a few inches behind him, “Ever since last night – ever since you walked out of the police station…it’s been different. You’re angrier, more vindictive. There’s more venom to your words, like you’re trying to use the mistakes of his past as a punching bag or something.”

Jughead whipped around abruptly and instead of looking at her, he was looking through her. His pupils were so dark and dilated that she could barely see any whites in them anymore, and his skin had gone so pale that it was almost translucent enough for her to see the blood pumping through his veins. He looked sick like he was trying to sweat out a fever that refused to die. She could tell that he was trying to hold himself back from saying something that would do irreparable damage to the both of them.

“I feel like I’m missing something here, Jug,” Veronica tried again, “You’re lashing out at your dad, who isn’t here to hear any of this. Why now? Why after the police turned this place upside down and took you in for reasons that have nothing to do with him?”

He grabbed another cushion by its frayed corner and ripped it off the cushion in one, frustrating move. Veronica didn’t flinch this time when it flew past her head and crashed into the dish rack. There was an ugly echo of glasses shattering into tiny little pieces but neither of them bothered to look at the mess he’d made.

“Because he might have killed Jason Blossom.”

Veronica was sure she must have misheard him and so she looked to him for clarity.

“The police came knocking because they’re starting to catch on that the notorious FP Jones had something to do with the quarterback’s death.”

How was that for clarity?

She lurched backward, searching for any hard surface that she could lean on for support. Jughead was still staring at her with hardened gaze – there was no shame in there, just the cold hard truth.

“There I fucking said it. Happy?”

Veronica curled her arms around her shoulders and tried to hold them up. “Is that why you turned down the Blossoms’ offer to lend you their lawyers,” she swallowed, her throat painfully constricting at the dryness, “Because you feel guilty that they’d be helping their son’s murderer to a lighter sentence?”

A perturbed look crossed his features but he was quick to school it into neutrality. “What are you talking about?”

She wanted to fly across the room and slap that blank slate off his face. She would have done it too had she not be in such a faint state. She writhed against the narrow column that separated the kitchen from the rest of the trailer and relished in the fact that it felt safe and stable, unlike everything that was happening around her. 

“You can drop the confused act,” Veronica fumed, “I know FP’s been showing up to court with some shitty state-appointed lawyer.”

His jaw ticked. “What is this? An interrogation, princess?”

It wasn’t a term of endearment, not the way it rolled off his tongue anyway.

She scowled. “No, this is me trying to get to the truth.”

He dragged a hand over his face like he wanted to rip himself apart. “I didn’t turn them down because they never made the offer.”

“That’s why you didn’t want to go to the police after Cheryl’s party. You were trying to protect Penelope…” she mumbled, to herself or to him she wasn’t so sure anymore, “Why would you – why are you lying to protect them? You hate them!”

Jughead opened his mouth then closed it again. When he finally attempted to speak again, there was a pained tremor to every word that came out of him, “There is a very high chance that if they go down, they’ll take my dad with them.”

Veronica clenched her eyes shut, trying to block out the screaming inside her ears that told her to run from here and never look back. Instead, she asked, “Then why did you bother with the arts and craft project that is the goddamn murder board if you’ve known all along that it was him?”

“Because I hope that I’m wrong.”

It didn’t make sense. None of it did.

There was a beat of silence as Veronica hobbled one furniture to another. Her fingers clutching at anything and everything until she reached the bench he was sitting on when she first re-entered the trailer. She kept a sturdy grip on the scratched surface and shook a cigarette loose from the carton. _For fuck’s sake_ , Veronica cursed under her breath as she slumped her weight against the workbench and tried to work the lighter with both hands. By the third go, she’d rubbed her thumb raw with the flint wheel. She was so focused on getting the damn thing to shine a light on her that she didn’t even notice Jughead coming up from behind her. She sputtered uselessly as he snatched the zippo out of her hand and spun her around forcibly. The metal clattered to the floor and spun out into the distance, disappearing under the sink. He took advantage of her stunned state, trapping her between his body and the bench, and the more he pressed into her the more she was struggling to hide her discomfort as the pointed edge stab into her back. He must have noticed it too because he slightly recoiled, leaving just enough wiggle room for her to slap away his hand that had her wrist pinned. Veronica should have stopped there but she didn’t.

After that, it became a flurry of sloppy smacks and scratches.

“Everyone is lying to me and I’m sick of it!”

“What about you?” he thundered and resumed his vice-like grip on both her wrist.

Jughead was cradling them together like he was terrified of bruising her. That enraged her even more if that was possible. She was certain that she’d gotten him good on the chest before and that it was going to leave a mark.

“What about _me_?” she retorted.

His eyes narrowed into two lethal slits. “I know you’re lying.”

 _No, you don’t_ , she should have barked back at him. But she didn’t know for sure, did she? In fact, Veronica was beginning to understand that perhaps she knew nothing at all.

“What do you know?” she swept her tongue over her chapped lips and yanked out of his hold, “No, what do you think I’m lying about?”

Jughead’s indigo eyes were swimming with conflict. He was one foot in and one foot out the door on the unveiling of her true colours and she contemplated goading him into it. _Just fucking say it and put me out of my misery_ , Veronica wanted to scream but all she did was stare at him until he broke. 

“You’ve been lying about why you really came to Riverdale.”

“I never told you the reason,” she argued.

He snorted but didn’t sound resentful, just regretful that this was what it had come to. “Semantics, Veronica. You don’t tell me but you tell other people. If you don’t, they assume all the same that you left New York to keep a low profile while you wait out your father’s trial. But that’s not the real story, and we both know that.”

She held his unwavering eyes, urging him with her determined gaze to go ahead. She was calling his bluff on this one.

“You and your friend, Katy Keene, did something to the St. Clair’s boy. That’s why you’re really here.”

There was a dangerous glint in his stare; he knew he had her and he wasn’t about to stop.

“You didn’t come to here to lay low until Hiram Lodge gets out on appeal. No,” Jughead searched her eyes he took a step forward, the sole of his boot made a sickly crunching sound against the hardwood floor, “You’re hiding from Nick.”

Veronica could feel the blood drain from her face. It was as if someone had shoved her head into a bucket of ice water and she was breathing under the freezing surface – numb and overpowered. 

“How?”

“Guess work - mostly around news articles and whatever social media trails the three of you failed to wipe off your accounts,” he confessed, “That picture of you I had pinned on the board – that wasn’t from Kevin’s article. It came from a gossip column that your parents tried to scrub off the internet. According to the editor, Nick wanted to give his comment but changed his mind at the last minute. Did daddy make that go away too?”

“Don’t – “

He ignored her protest and fired on. “Nick wants your head on the platter after the stunt you pulled in that garage, is that it?”

Her teeth crashed down on her lip so hard that she felt a coppery tang pour into her mouth. She can’t go down like this, she refused to, she –

She laughed; it sounded like glass breaking. “Maybe but he wouldn’t dare.”

Veronica threw her head back, another stream of demented laughter bubbling out of her. She waited for disgust to flood his twin pool of azure but it never did.

“Knowing Nick, he probably thinks he deserves it, you know? Retribution,” Veronica croaked, her eyes damp with angry tears, “He can come for me all he wants but I know things. Just like he knows things about me, I know what he wanted – _tried_ – to do to Katy when he dropped the Rohypnol into her Martini. I supposed that’s mutual blackmail when you’re the only two people in this world who understand just how truly despicable you can be.”

Jughead’s fingers brushed against hers – it was cautious and tender and _petrifying_. So she did the only thing that would break the spell and felt behind her for anything she could get her claws on and hurled it across the room. He didn’t even blink as the mug collided into the wall behind him. In that moment, she spite him endlessly for not biting. It shouldn’t be possible for someone who’d only known her for a handful of months to know all her deflection techniques so well.

“Did you want him to die?”

 _Yes – no_ , “I don’t know.”

“You know what I think?” Jughead was staring at her like he could absolve her of her sins. She thinks she might be a believer when his palm came to rest against her cheek and he whispered, “I think maybe he deserved to die for making you hate yourself this much.”

There was a very thin line between relief and distress here. He didn’t know about her family’s involvement in the Blossom homicide, but that didn’t counteract what he knew about her and Katy and Nick. Fucking Nick and his micro-penis that he couldn’t keep in his pants. She gasped for air desperately and all she saw was the deep blue of Jughead’s hardened stare, all she felt was the searing heat of his hands as they pressed into her sides and the oddly soothing tickle of his thumbs as they drew circles over her bones.

“We’re both lying and we’re both doing it to protect the people we love,” he told her with the tranquillity of midnight waves crashing against the shore, “I know that doesn’t make it right but it could make us even.”

A burst of adrenaline exploded inside her veins and she wasted it on shoving him away. Jughead fell a few steps back but it was enough for her to slip by him and out the kitchen. He didn’t follow because what was the point? She didn’t have the strength to leave, maybe he’d always known that about her. Maybe he’d known all along that she was a smoke show and underneath it all was the nasty truth.

“Why would you want to be even with someone like me?” Veronica was in hysterics and she knew it too.

He bound towards her purposefully and Veronica saw his gaze softening the closer he got to her. It hit her then, standing amongst the wreckage of his childhood, that yes, she’d been scared shitless since she’d gotten to town but nothing could ever be as frightful as the thought that he might never look at her like _that_ ever again.

“You can’t possibly want me after everything.”

“But I _do_ ,” Jughead said, his voice dripping with earnestly, “There’s only so much time left until you leave all this behind for New York, or whichever big city you have your sight set on. You’ll go onto do amazing, life-changing things while I waste away in this piece of shit town,” he slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her into him until she could hear and feel nothing other than the pounding of his heartbeat, “I don’t want to spend the rest of it fighting over secrets that we can’t share.”

She shook her head ruefully and turned away.

His nail barely grazed her cheek as he swept a wiry curl away from her face and carefully tucked it behind her ear. Veronica felt something stir inside her – it wasn’t pleasant but it wasn’t entirely unpleasant either.

“I don’t want any more than you can give, Veronica.”

Her head swirled with all the reasons why they shouldn’t and couldn’t but all she could focus on was the immovable adoration in his eyes, the undeniable skip of her heartbeat when his hand travelled up her arm and landed on her quivering shoulder. Her head wasn’t screwed on straight, it couldn’t be because the next thing Veronica knew she had surged at him and was kissing him like her life depended on it. Jughead staggered back at the full force of her affection, almost tumbling over the afghan rug that lay discarded on the floor. He managed to catch himself and the two of them tumbled into a cabinet instead. There was a painful sounding ‘thwack’ as his back collided with something solid but that didn’t deter him. It only made him press into her harder, his teeth sharper on her lip and his tongue more relentless against hers. She twined her fingers into his thick curls and tugged him closer, feeling a twinged of pleasure when a guttural moan ripped through him. Veronica had always enjoyed making out with boys but this wasn’t the same – this was like getting your throat slit and craving more of the terror. If last night had disconcerted her, then this right here was falling apart at the seams.

Her foot caught on something and just as she was about to fall, Jughead pushed his palm flat against her spine and turned them over. Veronica gasped at the unexpected contact, her lips freeing themselves from his. Everything was burning so brightly that she barely noticed that they’d tumble to the floor – him, lying flat on his back and her, with both knees locked around him. She didn’t know who grabbed who first. All she knew was that she caught the same brand of devastating desire reflected in his stormy eyes and that was all the confirmation she needed. She ached to kiss him again, to feel like she could live or die at the touch of him but he didn’t allow her to mull over that decision. Jughead was gentler this time, his lips no longer frenzied as they searched for hers. His hand moved to the back of her neck and held her delicately to him as his tongue coaxed her mouth into accepting him. Veronica sighed wistfully at the taste of peppermint and tobacco and everything forbidden. She curled her fingers around the front of his stained white tee and hauled him closer until the buckle of his belt was digging painfully into the softness of her thigh. Veronica held back a whine. He didn’t, she liked that – a lot. She also liked the wonderful sensation of his calloused fingers as they skimmed over the sliver of exposed flesh between the waistband of her jeans and the hem of her top. She tried desperately to think of why they should stop but couldn’t. Instead all she could think about was how she never wanted it to end.

Veronica didn’t know how long they stayed there with their lips locked and hands around each other’s necks. All she knew was that when they finally pulled apart, she was sitting between his legs, on the floor of his ramshackle trailer and that nothing had changed but they were happy.

* * *

They decided to get high after all.

They both agreed that the cleaning could wait until tomorrow. The Jones’ trailer had looked like a warzone after they were done with their spat and an eventual but mutual pact to give in to one another. So they laid together, their heads touching but their body facing opposing walls of the room because the floor was too cluttered with the mess that they’ve made for both of them to fit on the same side. Turns out that when Veronica had tripped over the rug during the throe of passion, she’d pulled up a corner that was concealing a dusty, king-size pack of rolling papers. Funnily enough, Jughead didn’t even know how to roll so he busied himself with finding the perfect record to put on and making them both a drink while she practiced her skills at packing a blunt.

They didn’t talk for a while after that. Not because it was awkward to have kissed twice in the last twenty-four hours but because there was nothing to be said after all that had transpired between them. Jughead finally settled on an Al Green album and Veronica settled on a wonkily rolled blunt. It was when the first side of the record came to a close that she found herself asking:

“Why do you think your dad had something to do with it?”

She heard him shift across from her. The pause was stifling.

“So you refuse to tell me your stuff but I’m supposed to tell you mine?”

Veronica blew the perfect smoke ring into the air then passed him the blunt.

Jughead sighed darkly but indulged her anyway. “I caught them arguing outside the trailer the week before he disappeared.”

“About what?”

“Me,” he said, short and unfeeling, “He found out that Jason and his army of jocks had been knocking me around at school. He’d never been much of a parent but he’d always been the type to bark up the wrong tree, so it made sense that he went after Jason like he was up for father of the year. Jason wanted more dope and my old man told him to go take a hike - he wasn’t going to sell to some punk who was kicking his own kid’s ass at every given opportunity,” he paused to take a deep hit. Then, “And as you could have guessed, Jason didn’t take well to that. He spat in dad’s face and told him that he could kiss his side hustle as the school’s drug dealer goodbye. After all, people don’t usually say ‘no’ to the town’s shining pride.”

Veronica listened to him contemplatively as she swished a dose of rum around in her mouth. It was a simple explanation and FP did strike her as a man capable of great brutality, but it was too easy. She wasn’t even sure anymore that Minetta took Jason’s life. He could have easily taken credit for it and none of them would be the wiser about who the real killer is.

“You really think your dad killed him for that?”

Jughead shrugged and snicked some of the ash off the blunt before handing it back. “Who the fuck knows? Dad’s always had a temper to him, Jason did as well – he just hid it better. It wouldn’t take much for either them to get at each other’s throats.”

She took a prolonged inhale. Her eyes felt heavy and her mouth felt heavier when she surmised, “You feel bad because you think he killed Jason because of you.”

“No,” Jughead rejected. He abruptly got up on his feet and shuffled over to the record player, “I feel bad that I’m convinced he did it but still,” he licked his lips as he flipped the disc over and gently placed the needle on the correct track, “I can’t bring myself to go to the cops about it.”

“He’s your dad,” Veronica supplied empathetically.

He nodded without looking at her. She knew that feeling all too well. 

“I met him last night.”

The smooth baritone of Al Green’s voice crooned in the background as Jughead stared in muted stupefaction, clenching and unclenching his jaw. She was debilitated by her own anxiety as she watched him reach for his drink, his fingers shook as he clutched the glass to his chest and laid back down.

Veronica tried to swallow down her trepidation but it wasn’t working. “I had to go see him at Shankshaw for his signature. They needed a guardian’s written consent since you’re still a minor.”

Jughead turned to her with a sardonic smile. “I take it that mum was back at it with her disappearing act?”

She nodded an affirmative. He breathed in the hazy puff of smoke that she expired between the two of them.

“How’d that go?”

“Oh you know,” Veronica started, her tone plagued with unease. Unfortunately, she didn’t know how to finish this tune.

He scoffed, his eyes glued to the ceiling. “Yeah, I know.”

She was certain that Jughead was under no illusion that his father was a model citizen but how do you tell someone that their parent was the kind dirtbag that was willing to trade his only son’s free will for some legal expenses?

“He didn’t want to sign it – your release form,” the admission left her cold so she could only guess how it made him feel, “He only agreed to do it after he made me promise that I’d get him a better lawyer.”

A splintered look crossed over his face as he knocked back the rest of his drink. He didn’t look disappointed, not really. Forlorn, maybe but not disappointed. Veronica felt her fingers jerked reflexively at the loss of him as he pushed himself upright by the elbows. She idly wondered if this was a new development or if she’d always been drawn to him since that very first icy morning when he caught her staring into the cool abyss of Sweetwater River. She couldn’t pinpoint when she began to yearn for him but she couldn’t pinpoint a time when she didn’t either.

“Did he threaten you?” his voice tightened at that.

“Not in so many words, no.”

He ran his fingers through his mussed locks and blew a sharp breath. “I’m sorry if he was rude to you. I know he can be mean-spirited.”

“Don’t apologize for him,” she reminded him quietly.

Jughead hung his head, the shame was emanating off him in thick, angry waves. “You should have left me in jail.”

Veronica sat up and scooted closer, resting her cheek on the hollow of his shoulder. “You know I couldn’t have done that.” 

They sat there like that until the last song died out. _Where do we go from here?_ She found herself thinking but she was too exhausted to ask another question that no one had an answer to.

“Veronica, I’m going to kiss you now,” Jughead announced suddenly. There was a tinny ‘clink’ sound as his knee nudged the tumbler to the side, knocking the ice cube into the rim of the glass. His hand was still cold from the drink when he placed it on top of hers and turned it over. Veronica shivered at the warm puff of his breath as he brought her fingers to his lips but more so at the anticipation when he finally let go of her hand, allowing it to fall into his lap. Little by little, Jughead turned his head until his mouth was hovering over hers and her brain was invaded by the greed to mark him with her lips, “You have to tell me if you don’t want me to.”

She didn’t tell him anything.


End file.
